Scars We Never Knew
by dcat8888
Summary: Milt and Mark try to track down an arsonist


Scars We Never Knew

by dcat

I do not own Milt and Mark, two swell guys though! I've done the proofing myself, so if you spot something glaring, let me know and I'll try to correct it!

OOOOO

The room was completely dark, when suddenly tiny sparks of light began to erupt. It was like an Independence Day Sparkler, except that it was just one random spark followed by another, not a budding or building explosion, but that was more than okay as his fascination increased with each new exploding spark. This might work after all. All the time, all the sacrifice, all the lonely hours and now finally, maybe this would lead to something.

He sat in the corner of the room and watched his handy work, amazed and satisfied by what he was creating. It was almost exactly what he wanted. He watched the flecks of fire and light, mesmerized by each one. The uniqueness of the individual sparks led him to new thoughts, new ideas of things he could do with this discovery.

Terrance Shaw tired endlessly with his design for this special laboratory room and his pet project. He had the blackened room specifically set up this way so that he could plan and study and experiment with his theories and ideas. His mind worked in the same way the tiny sparks did, one tiny idea sparked another.

It was nearly perfect, sitting there on the floor, in the corner of the room, wowed by each new burst. His busy, cluttered mind whirred with new thoughts of where to take his experiment.

And now, just as suddenly as the experiment had erupted, it ended, leaving him in pitch darkness. Now he huddled against the two walls, backing himself tightly against the hard, unmoving background. People would probably laugh at him if they saw him like this, thinking he was cowering away, they wouldn't see the greatness he'd achieved, merely the fool they perceived him to be. He folded his arms in front of him and continued to press himself backwards, though there was no room for him to move. _Stop this craziness,_ he tried to will himself. _Go back to your experiments_. _You're a scientist, you're not crazy. What do they know anyway? You're the one who has created something new and powerful here._

He leaned over finally, after convincing himself of his real stature and flicked on the softer, more natural light of the room. There was a lot more he had to do, yes indeed, a great deal more.

OOOOO

He went to his apartment in a rather obscure part of downtown. No one would probably even realize anyone lived there, but he liked it that way. If he needed to do something at home in private he could do it this way and no one would be the wiser, no one would bug him with questions or inquires. Being alone, that's what he wanted, that's what he always wanted. And as fortune would have it, the apartment which had four units in it, but only his was currently occupied. It had been that way for close to six months now. The Landlord only came around for the rent and that was good enough for him. The neighborhood was supposed to be revitalized and transformed, but since the economy was stagnant, so too was the urban renewal.

He plopped down on the old sofa and kicked up about two pounds of dust from it as his seat hit the cushion. This place could go up in flames in a heartbeat. He smiled at the thought of that. He'd been attracted to fire for as long as he could remember. Some people thought it was a curse, he thought it was his redemption. Before he had sat down, he picked up the TV remote and aimlessly hit the button to turn the set on. He watched the screen flicker and snow before him and somewhere in the midst of the poor reception he saw the channel he had on was broadcasting the evening news. He picked up the little plastic blue box that sat on the next cushion. He really needed to finish working on it. On the floor in front of him was the electronics magazine, he picked it up along with the blue box and tried to make sense of the rather simplified explanation. With a few simple modifications, it could do so much more. Didn't the author of the article realize that? He pulled out a small screwdriver from his shirt pocket and made some adjustments as the newscaster on the nearby TV caught his attention.

He sat forward and strained his eyes to see and hear what the story was about, two men, two regular, everyday citizens on some crime-capturing wave. The reporter was calling them heroes. He tried to turn up the sound and he stood up to adjust the makeshift antenna, complete with strips of aluminum foil, there, that was a little clearer now. He watched carefully and couldn't believe his eyes or ears.

He sat back, smiled, reached deep into his pants pocket and grabbed hold of the lighter and then his front shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He put the cigarette in his mouth and then flicked the lighter to ignite the tobacco. He sat looking at the flame until his thumb started to get hot from holding it on for too long.

The fire, though just the single flame, was powerful and then it was gone. 

OOOOO

"What's better than making the evening news and the morning paper?" McCormick asked as he strolled onto the patio carrying said morning paper up with a gleeful smile plastered on his face.

"That's my paper McCormick, why can't you just bring it to me like I've asked you a million times?" Hardcastle rolled his eyes and added, "We don't need that sort of stupid notoriety anyway. When are you going to learn we don't do this for fame, we do it 'cause it's the right thing to do."

Mark laughed and sat across from him. "I know that, but come on Hardcase, putting Doyle Frederick's away? Can't we just enjoy our 15 seconds of fame? That was huge, are you kidding me? When the KGB even is out to get you, you know you're one bad dude." He poked his finger at the picture of Doyle Frederick's which took up a big portion of the front page.

"It's 15 _minutes_ of fame McCormick, though in your case you're probably right with it being seconds and Doyle Frederick's should have never gotten out to begin with, except that I had to rule inadmissible evidence. It made me sick knowing he was running loose on the streets for nearly four years."

"This is a pretty good picture of me in the paper," McCormick was still intent on delighting in his media coverage. "Sort of an action hero type shot, just look at the grip I have on old Doyle? Makes my arm look sort of muscular, don't you think? Ladies will probably think so."

He thrust the paper in front of Hardcastle face disrupting his new mouthful of food. "Would you get that out of my face, I'm trying to eat here?" Hardcastle practically threw a punch at the paper and then followed it with an annoyed look cast at McCormick.

McCormick pulled the paper away so that Hardcastle wouldn't rip the article. "Aw, you're just mad because the one they used of you is the head shot from when you sat on the bench, and it's buried on the inside page. You can admit it."

"McCormick, this whole conversation is stupid, I could care less about last night's newscast or what picture of me they plaster in their paper. Doyle Frederick's is behind bars, that's the only thing that matters to me."

"Ha, you're not fooling me Judge, you know they cropped you out of this shot, that's it isn't it?" McCormick continued his relentless teasing.

That was enough, Hardcastle's mood turned from sour to anger, "You know your work is piling up around this place, why don't you eat your breakfast and get to it, instead of acting like some sort of B-list celebrity. No one cares about you or me in this whole thing pal, they just know they can sleep better tonight knowing Doyle Frederick's is behind bars," the Judge explained.

"I don't care what you say, I'm clipping this out and putting it in my scrapbook," Mark said, dishing up a plate of food for himself and re-reading the article. "This is way more important than cutting grass."

"You know, maybe if you kept this place up better, they'd do a feature story on your work around here. You know you could be a well-known groundskeeper, maybe even an award winner, you should take that seriously," Hardcastle mentioned.

"Oh yeah, that's what I've always wanted, a trophy and certificate for having the world's greenest lawn. Judge, are you kidding me? I just put away Doyle Frederick's, international killer," his tone suddenly full of arrogance and pride.

"You sound all tough and assured about all this this morning kiddo, but what about a month ago you all but begged me not to go after Doyle. And don't forget, that's _we_ McCormick, as in you and I put him away, not just you"

"That's funny, looks to me like the paper thinks I did this by myself. The caption under the photo reads, 'Mark McCormick hauls off repudiated criminal Doyle Frederick's into police custody.' There's no mention of you there KemoSabe." He watched the Judge's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay, that's enough of this for this morning," the Judge ripped the paper from McCormick's hands. Finish your breakfast and get to work. We need to get downtown for the hearing by 1 o'clock."

Neither of them noticed the article and the headline right next to the story on Doyle Frederick's: _Electrical fire closes down local business._

OOOOO

Terrance Shaw was holed up in his lab for days. He kept running and repeating the same experiment over and over. It still wasn't the exact result he wanted and he wouldn't be able to move forward until he perfected his latest test.

"Damn it," Shaw shouted to the empty room of blackness. "I'm so close to getting this nailed." He put his head in his hands and yanked at the hair on his head. He walked over to the nearby wall and turned on the light, which instantly filled the room and sent him to shield his own eyes from the brightness.

Next, he went over to the desk which was overflowing with papers. He quickly sifted through a stack of them and angrily plucked out several papers and a pen and began to furiously write down additional notes. His calculations were so close and yet so very far away.

OOOOO

_Unknown origin_. That's what the reporter from the paper called it in the article. It was probably the same writer who wrote the story for the magazine article. They had no idea in taking the time to really explain anything. He knew better though, the origin wasn't unknown at all. He knew all about it, from the opening spark to the final puff of smoke. He had watched it from the street. He had worked for Bach Electric for about three months. They laid him off, saying there was a downturn in the economy and they needed to cut costs. He was the only one who lost his job. He knew the real reason he was let go though, they didn't fool him. They found out about his record.

His creation had worked, a single spark and poof, the entire place had been destroyed. This was an easy way to settle a lot of scores and he had a lot to settle. It was easier than the lighter he had preferred to use until now. He pulled out a box filled with wires and screws, all the things he needed to make another blue box. Perhaps it was good though, that no one knew how these fires were starting, his MO was changing, he didn't need the lighter anymore and yet the result would be the same. It was getting closer and he knew what the next plan was going to be and just how to make it work.

OOOOO

What Terrrance Shaw needed was someplace out of the lab that he could continue to test out his theory. As he drove around from neighborhood to neighborhood looking for just the right sort of structure, he knew that it needed to be small in over-all size, yet a functioning building as well. It couldn't be abandoned or unused, that wouldn't work. A real-world experiment needed to be run in the real world. Nothing was standing out to him. He shook his head with some despair, he couldn't very well use anybody's house for this, what was he thinking? He was over that, cured, his work was good work now, purposeful. He didn't need to revert back to who he had once been. He opted to go back to his lab and go through the newspapers that had been piling up for him to read. Maybe something would be in there that would give him an idea. Maybe there was a place he could buy.

OOOOO

He had the device all set and ready to go. It would be a simple in and out to place the device, which would easily disintegrate during the fire and go undetectable by fire personnel.

He was so close.

He watched and waited for what seemed like days, tracking their movements. When they finally left, he entered and placed the device and set it ignite at three am.

OOOOO

It was beyond late, actually bordering on dawn. Milt must have dozed off sometime just before the scene in the movie when John Wayne made his daring escape. McCormick, knowing even before the second movie began that he was too tired to make it through another one, wished the Judge a good evening and trotted off to the gatehouse for his normal six-plus hours of sleep.

It was nearing 3:30am when Milt was jostled awake. Thinking it must have been some sort of noise from the TV, he glanced over and saw that they were running a repeat of Gilligan's Island, something he surely did not want to see. He shook his head, along with a few cobwebs and reached for the remote on the table and turned off the TV, but the strange noise was still there.

Something from outside the nearby window in the den caught his eye. It was a strange sort of glow that'd he'd never noticed before. He eased himself slowly into a standing position and went over to look out and see what exactly it was. As he lumbered over to the area behind his desk, he tried to recall something in paper or on the television news about some such asteroid shower or maybe a lunar eclipse, but nothing came to mind. The sky seemed to be a weird sort of orange.

He pulled open the wooden window blinds and his eyes tracked skyward first trying to figure out just what he was looking at, then his gaze quickly fell to rest on the gatehouse.

It wasn't a meteor shower, it was the gatehouse and it was nearly fully engulfed in flames. The glow from the fire, stretched skyward, causing the weird glow in the sky. "Oh my God, McCormick!" was the only thing the Judge could think of to say, nearly in a low-toned whisper of shocked stun. Without thought he fumbled toward the desk. He spun around and grabbed for the nearby desk phone and quickly dialed 911. "This is Judge Milton Hardcastle, there's a fire, 101 Pacific Coast Highway, Gulls Way Estate, the gatehouse, there might be someone trapped inside, please hurry." Milt simply dropped the phone and ran toward the fire.

"Sir, sir?" the emergency dispatcher asked, but no further information came and she quickly called up the corresponding rescue, fire and police units to the location the man had given her.

Hardcastle was in an all-out sprint toward the gatehouse. "McCORMICK," he shouted and screamed over and over as he raced toward the burning house. His eyes scanned the lit up area, even though the sky above him was still dark and full of night. Milt could already feel the intense heat radiate out at him from the burning house as he got closer and closer. And the noise from the raging flames was deafening. He didn't see Mark anywhere outside and he knew he was home because he'd just run past the Coyote. _Oh God, are you still in there?_ He said to himself, checking and rechecking the surrounding area outside of the gatehouse. "McCORMICK," he screamed again. He must still be inside. Hardcastle felt his heart and soul collapse into the pit of his stomach. The Judge knew McCormick had gone to bed. One more time he shouted as he came up upon the door. Hardcastle knew what he had to do. He couldn't wait for the fire personnel to arrive. He kicked the door in with an aggressive violent stomp. He stepped back momentarily expecting flames to shoot out, but he was in luck, it was only thick, heavy smoke that came billowing out at him. All of his senses were overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of the horrible fire. He peered inside and saw that the flames seemed to be coming mainly from the tiny kitchen area but beginning to fill the living area and that he had a relatively clear path to get up to the loft, where McCormick must be. But he had to hurry, as there was no way to know how quickly the flames would grow. He shouted his name again, "McCORMICK," hoping that he'd get a reply. And then he began his way through the thick smoke up to the loft. He had to be up there.

McCormick had groggily woken up in the midst of this disaster. It took him to a few minutes to figure out what was happening_. A fire? What the hell?_ The smoke and the heat along with the intense sound of the roaring flames stunned him to a groggy consciousness. How had it started and how long had it been burning? There was no time to think about it now. He had no idea how long he'd slept through this, but he started coughing relentlessly and to no avail trying to rid his lungs of the noxious fumes. His throat and lungs were raw. He got to his feet momentarily, but suddenly collapsed to the floor from the smoke. He crawled a few steps and was overcome by the muck clogging up his lungs. He coughed again. He thought he heard a familiar voice. Was that Hardcastle? "JUDGE?" Mark called back in hope, he thought he had heard the Judge and called out from his knees from up the stairs. He saw the fire as it quickly was snaking it's way up the walls toward the loft. As much as he could use a hand, it wasn't prudent for the Judge to try to come up the stairs. "Judge, get out of here," he began to shout back at Milt, "Don't come up, it's too dangerous, stay out," he wasn't sure if Milt heard him or not above the roar of the raging fire, he screamed as loud as he could. "I'm," he started to cough, "coming down right now." McCormick was trying to make his way over to the window, so that he could break it and try to get some air. His lungs were already obnoxiously filled with the sick, choke-filled smoke. He stumbled to his knees, overcome by the black smoke for the second time. He coughed relentlessly in an effort to find a breath of clean air. The simple act of taking a few steps was overwhelming him. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd make it to the window. He rubbed his eyes trying to scrap away the smoke. His coughing was more intense but it wasn't helping, in fact it just made him feel weaker by the second. He tried crawling, scraping and clawing his way to the window, but it was no use, he was being overwhelmed by the smoke. This was going to be it. He collapsed in a heap.

Hardcastle hadn't heard him call out and his own heart began to beat faster in fear for his friend. He grabbed a nearby afghan off the couch and swatted at flames as he made his way up to the top of the loft to find Mark. Once he got to the top, he could see the kid's form lying on the ground half way between the bed and the window. He must have been trying to get out and had gotten overcome by the fumes. Hardcastle began to cough himself from the ever growing, ever intensifying smoke and heat. It was worse than bad, he thought. He covered his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and tried to stay as low to the ground as he could. The flames were now beginning to flare up in the main room below, even licking and swiping at the stairway to the loft. He had to get them both out of there quickly. He coughed again and momentarily dropped to a knee near Mark, as he grabbed hold of his shirt and tried to shake him into consciousness. "McCormick, wake up, we gotta get out of here, can you hear me?" McCormick coughed a little, but that was about all of a response that came from McCormick. "All right kiddo, you'll be all right, just stay with me here, we'll get out of this." The Judge began to pull Mark toward the stairs, with McCormick managing to muster up some strength and where-with-all to push himself along the floor, alongside of the Judge.

"Judge," Mark weakly said, "Get yourself outta here now, it's bad." A huge coughing jag came over McCormick. "Don't worry about me, you gotta get out."

"Nothing doing, you're coming with me kiddo, we're both getting out of here, now come on, quit talking and just keep moving." His strong arms pulled Mark toward the stairs. "Come on Mark, we gotta," cough cough, "get outta here now, help me out." McCormick barely moved, he was fading fast. Milt kept shaking him and off in the distance he could here sirens approaching. That was the last thing he remembered as they both tumbled down the stairs.

OOOOO

They both were outside sitting on the grass, each wrapped in a blanket, outside the gatehouse. Soot covered both of their tired and empty-looking faces. Mark leaned back against a tree. He had his right leg crossed. One hand held the air mask shakily in place over his nose and mouth, while this other rubbed at his right foot. His body shuddered each time he sucked in a breath, the bad smoke still holding his lungs captive. He continued to cough through the mask. Paramedics were near by, administering to both of them. Firemen were milling inside and out the gatehouse, the fire was now out and the tiny house was still standing, having sustained substantial interior damage.

Hardcastle's sight veered between the tiny guest house and his nearby friend. His mind kept thinking 'what might have happened.' He replayed it over and over and over again in his head. He thought they were both goners when they fell down the stairs and he was amazed at how fast the smoke had overtaken both of them. It was a miracle they survived. Thank God the fire department was so quick to arrive. Milt pulled the oxygen mask off of his mouth and asked. "You feeling any better yet?" He directed toward McCormick.

Mark was eerily focused on staring at the house and appeared to not hear what Hardcastle asked him.

"McCormick?" Milt repeated in a softer voice. There was still no answer. "Mark?" This time the Judge asked him a little louder. "Hey, are you okay?" The raising of his voice began a coughing spell for the older jurist. "Maybe you should take a ride to the hospital, get an IV or something?"

Mark finally turned his head toward the Judge. His hand clung to the mask he wore, sucking up as much of its gift as he could get. As he eyed up the Judge, he took one more deep-as-possible breath as he could and then he pulled the mask away, so he could talk. The numb expression never changed on his face, "I don't need an IV, I just need the oxygen. I feel a little better," he said his voice jagged sounding and cracking, immediately turning back to looking at the gatehouse. "What about you?" he asked of the Judge.

Milt shrugged off his answer. "Something wrong with your foot?" Hardcastle asked as he noticed the kid was aggressively rubbing his right foot.

"Huh?" Mark said.

"Your foot? Did you hurt it on something? You've been rubbing it for the last twenty minutes. Should the medics take a look at it?" Milt said, pointing toward his foot.

McCormick looked down and immediately stopped rubbing it. "Um, no, it's fine, I think it was just itching me, that's all." He was simply wearing socks that had at one time been white, now they were covered in soot. Both of them just got out with the proverbial clothes on their back.

Hardcastle watched and listened to him closely. It was just a few moments and he went back to rubbing his foot. Milt ignored it for now, he was more worried about how much smoke Mark had taken in. He could hear the rough sound, deep from within his lungs, but the kid had out and out refused to spend the night in the hospital. Milt felt the same way, even though the paramedics suggested they both take a ride and spend the night. He quickly peered over at McCormick again. There was no way he was feeling any better. He could barely take a breath. He must have inhaled in a lot of smoke. He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping and breathing in the muck before he woke up. Milt took another deep breath of his own from the mask of the pure oxygen he wore and could feel the tightness is his own chest. How the devil had the fire started? Milt wondered. He stared and McCormick and could only wonder what he was thinking about. His face was empty, his eyes tired and somber. Who knew how long the fire and the smoke had billowed in the gatehouse before they both got out, or more specifically, when the firemen got them out. Neither one of them remembered the actual rescue.

Hardcastle had come too sooner than McCormick had and when he groggily woke up and saw several paramedics hovering around Mark, he could only think the worse. They were quick to assure him that McCormick was alive. It wasn't but a few more minutes until he heard Mark begin to cough and try to sit up. He called out for Hardcastle right away. "JUDGE?" He tried to shout, while rising up and removing the mask from his face. The paramedics had their hands full in trying to keep him calm.

Milt scooted over and tried to tell him that they both were okay and that seemed to help him relax. "I'm right here kiddo, just settle down there." Mark eased his own body back to the ground and took as deep of breaths as he could.

Now they both were stunned. This whole night was just a bad, horrible dream.

The Fire Captain came over to them. He'd seen the look they both wore too many times to keep count. "You sure you two don't want to go to the hospital and get checked out, you both took in a lot of smoke? My medics are recommending it."

Hardcastle nodded no, feeling necessary to answer for both of them. "We'll be okay. This oxygen is helping a lot." McCormick gave no indication, his eyes still fixed on the now lessening smoke that floated from the gatehouse and wafted upward into the damp night air. It was a smell that was making him nauseous and light-headed.

The Fire Captain gave him a warm smile. "What about him?" He pointed to McCormick.

"He'll be fine too," the Judge said. Milt didn't want to press Mark, he had already made a mental note to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day. McCormick had gotten agitated when the paramedics had mentioned it earlier and Hardcastle didn't have the strength or the stamina to argue with him right now. He watched him for an extra second and noticed how McCormick clung to the oxygen mask, relying on it for every breath he could, leaning it heavily against his mouth and nose. He probably should have made him go to the hospital, but something inside him wouldn't allow him to make the kid go. He needed Mark to be around the house tonight as much as he thought Mark needed to be there too. Milt couldn't quite understand why.

"The paramedics are advising that you both take a ride with them. But we can't force you. If you experience any sort of relapse or any new symptoms, we suggest you call your own doctors or get to the emergency room as soon as possible. The paramedics have a couple of forms you each need to sign, standard release stuff, you know?" The Fire Captain explained to Hardcastle.

The Judge nodded his understanding. "We'll be all right, thank you. You guys got us out of there quick. We appreciate that."

The captain crouched down, near to the Judge, but out of ear shot of McCormick. "Well, we'll be here for about another hour, to make sure everything's out, and I'll have the paramedic unit stay as well, that way you can both keep breathing in the oxygen. He's really going to be feeling the effects in a day or so," the Captain admitted.

"Thanks for the warning and we appreciate you keeping the paramedics here," Milt said.

"Are you sure he's fine?" the Captain couldn't help but ask in more of a subdued voice, as McCormick still stared at the smoldering house. "I've seen this before, it's a heck of a shock to the system."

Milt nodded his understanding. "He says he's okay, and I'll keep a close eye on him. We both have been through a lot tonight, I don't want to press him." He brought the mask back up over his mouth and nose and took in a few deep breaths. It was the only thing he could think of to explain it to the Captain.

The Fire Captain pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to the Judge. "In case you need this, she's very good at what she does."

Hardcastle barely looked at the card, he knew it was the name of a doctor, some sort of a shrink most probably. He didn't even look at the name, before he thrust it into his pocket. Milt nodded his thanks.

The Fire Captain rose to his feet and gave the Judge one final nod. "We're going to be doing some checking through the house to see if we can determine the cause of the fire. You two just relax for now." And with that he walked away from them.

They both sat there starring in silence at the charred remains, breathing from the oxygen masks, not saying anything to each other, but both lost in what appeared to be deep thought.

It was another fifteen minutes before either one of them spoke. Then it was the Judge again who began. "You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

This time Mark heard him right off, and he turned and eyed up the Judge. "No." was his simple, mumbled answer, as he responded without removing the mask.

Milt nodded, "I understand, I'll drop it." He decided to take another approach, "You can sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight, well for awhile huh?" he decided to add. "Until we get the house back in shape." he paused, "How do you think it started?" He tossed out.

Mark shook his head from side to side. "I don't know," he pulled the mask off just long enough to answer and there was a certain irritation in his voice. He started to viciously cough again and quickly lifted the mask back on his face in an effort to obtain relief.

Hardcastle reached out his arm and let it come to a rest on Mark's back. Something made Milt offer up an odd-sounding apology. "I don't mean to suggest you started it," he let the sentence hang between them.

Mark coughed once again, "I know you didn't mean it, believe me, I'm trying to think of what might have caused it and I'm drawing a blank." He paused to take in some oxygen, and to wipe his eyes of the crust that had invaded them. "Damn, it's just this smoke, I can't get a decent breath." He paused to get some more oxygen. "I know I didn't leave anything on. I went straight from your den to the loft," his voice cracked as he talked. "Maybe the firemen will find out how it started."

Hardcastle nodded. "Probably some faulty wiring or something stupid like that, that little house is over forty years old. They did things a lot differently when they built it in those days, no stereos and TV's and all the other appliances. That takes a toll on the electricity."

McCormick rubbed his eyes again, they were coated with smoke too, even though the paramedic had rinsed them out a couple of times already. He turned his attention back to the house, staring at the smoke still hanging in the air all around them. He decided to broach the subject that was weighing on his mind. "You shouldn't have come in there after me. You could have been killed. Didn't you hear me tell you not to come in?"

"I wasn't just gonna let you burn alive," Milt answered, slightly annoyed. "I called the fire department, but who knew how long it was going to take them to get here? I had to do something. Did you want me to stand around and watch the whole place go up in flames with you in it?"

McCormick stared right into his eyes, once again finding it hard to believe the man who sat next to him. He really was the Lone Ranger. He very well may have saved his life, something that was still hard to process right at the moment. "I'm sorry," Mark finally said. "I don't know what I'm saying right now. Thank you," he added softly, hoping that Hardcastle would understand the simple acknowledgement for now.

As usual Hardcastle held up his hand and brushed off the discussion. "It's a shock to both of us, we'll both feel better tomorrow."

"What do we do now?" Mark asked him, willing, for now to let the life-saving thanks conversation drop.

"Whatta ya mean? We do what we always do." Hardcastle stated matter of factly. "This is just a bump in the road."

"Judge, _all_ my stuff is in there," McCormick reminded him. "And a lot of your stuff was in there."

"We'll get you new stuff. We can replace stuff," Hardcastle answered, "That's the easy part."

"Everything I own Milt," Mark's eyes drifted back over to the tiny house. "This is more than a bump in the road Judge."

Milt turned to look at Mark and saw that he had gone back to rubbing that right foot of his again. "Not everything. Look kiddo, we're both alive, that's what matters. We can rebuild whatever's been destroyed in there and we can replace whatever you lost. I promise ya that."

McCormick never bothered to look back over to him as he spoke.

OOOOO

By 6am most of the fire department's units had left. Two fire investigators remained on the scene, plying their way through the inside wreckage. Mark and the Judge decided to make their way back to the main house.

"Why don't you go ahead and take a shower, get yourself cleaned up, it might make you feel better?" the Judge suggested as they entered.

"And then what? I don't have any clothes to wear Judge, remember?" Mark said with a certain amount of disgust in his voice. The most basic of necessities had been taken from him.

"There's probably something down in the laundry. I'll go check," Milt offered.

"I just did all the laundry last night during the movie, and I put it all away in the gatehouse, it's all ruined now. There's nothing downstairs Judge, trust me."

Milt took a deep breath and tried to stay positive. "I'll take a look anyway, maybe you missed something, wouldn't be the first time you know? If not, I'll find you a t-shirt and some sweats of mine that'll work till we can get to a store. It's not like you're posing for GQ this morning anyway."

"Great, there's nothing like wearing clothes 15 sizes too big for you. I think four of my arms would fit in one of your sleeves," Mark cracked.

"Hey, I'm trying here all right, give me a break, it's just till we can get to the store."

Mark dropped his head down and shook it from side to side, "I know, I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself that's all."

"It's understandable," Milt paused, "Go take a shower, I'll see what I can dig up for ya."

Mark nodded and moved past the Judge.

Milt watched as he slowly plodded off up the stairs and he glanced around the familiar room and shuffled his way over to a chair and sat down to rest for a moment. While his body welcomed the relaxing reprieve, his mind whirled with all sorts of thoughts. He'd find no relaxation from his own brain. His arm latched onto the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness knocked out his equilibrium. He tried to let out a deep breath, but the smoke he had ingested prevented him from doing so without coughing. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the card that the fire captain had given him. His dizzy head began to settle down. The name read Carole Murdock. He smiled as he re-read the information. Carole Murdock had been in and out of so many trials he had presided over. She was an expert witness when it came to the study of the human mind and her area of expertise was fire trauma. "Small world," he said aloud to the empty room. He wasn't surprised that the fire captain knew of her. He thought about her fondly for a brief moment and then he set the card on the table and put his head back in the chair and relived the whole frightening episode of the fire all over again. He shuddered internally as he recalled seeing the orange glow from the gatehouse, then the flames and then McCormick's body lying in a huddled mass on the floor. It was all too eerily similar to him. His chest still ached and burned from all the smoke he inhaled.

He rested for another moment before he decided to find some clean clothes for the kid to wear. McCormick was right about the laundry room, for a change the kid had done every stitch of laundry down there. Back up the stairs went Hardcastle. He knew he had some older clothes that had gotten too small for him and even though they'd still be big on McCormick, they wouldn't be too outrageous on him. He paused before he opened the door to the bathroom. The water from the shower was still running and Mark sounded like he was hacking up a lung. Milt waited for the coughing to cease and then he knocked on the door and opened it just enough to reach in and set the clothes on the hamper just inside the door. "I just set the clothes over here on top of the hamper," he called out and then closed the door.

"Thanks Judge," came Mark's raspy reply.

It was about a half hour later when Mark came back down the stairs, all but drowning in the t-shirt and sweats and carrying the bundle of his smoke fill clothes in his hand. "Go ahead and laugh, I know I look ridiculous, but I finally got the smoke smell off of my skin I think. These clothes are huge. Were you born this size?" He looked over at the Judge who wore a smile, obviously he did look ridiculous. He gave him a partial smile in return. "I don't even know if I should try washing these or not," he said, slightly lifting up the clothes he'd been wearing. "I remember hearing from someone that you can't get the smell out, no matter how many times you try."

"Ah, you don't need to worry about that now, you hungry for some breakfast or something?"

"Not really," he rubbed his eyes. "I guess I'm just not very focused right now, but I'm not thinking about food."

The Judge laughed, "That'll be a first."

Mark took a seat in one of the chairs. "This sounds crazy, but I'm still sort of shaking over the whole thing." He felt like he had to admit it out loud.

Milt merely gave him an understanding nod.

"Pretty stupid huh?" McCormick asked him, almost prodding him to see if the Judge was affected in a similar way.

"Nah, it's understandable."

McCormick stared at him, "But you're not?"

"We all react differently," Milt said.

"Does anything ever scare you?" Mark asked him bluntly. "For crying out loud Judge, you raced into a house full of flames."

Milt looked in the opposite direction, "Are you kidding me? Of course I get scared. I was scared this morning. I usually don't go running into burning buildings and I don't want to do it again, trust me on that one. But I'm not going to sit around and dwell on it."

"Just like that? It's over?" Mark couldn't believe this judicial mule. "You're something else Hardcase."

"Listen, I'm going to go whip up some sandwiches, why don't you turn on the TV, put on something you don't need to think about, take your mind right off the fire," the Judge got up from the chair. McCormick nodded and sat back in the chair and crossed his leg. Hardcastle noticed it right away, he had gone back to rubbing that right foot of his again. Milt opted to not saying anything again and he picked up Mark's smoke infested clothes went off into the kitchen to make some sandwiches for the two of them.

As he stepped into the kitchen, the smell from his own clothes and Mark's hit him full force and stopped him dead in his tracks. He dropped the bundle of McCormick's clothes and grabbed hold of the table and quickly sat down at the table. His heart was racing and his palms were suddenly sweating. _What the hell? _The Judge wondered what was happening to him. Hadn't he just told McCormick that he was over the fire? He didn't dwell on the past right? If he was indeed over it, then why did this strange feeling just come over him and all but paralyze him? He sat quietly, staring at the linoleum floor. He didn't know how long he sat there like that, but the next thing he heard was Mark's voice coming from the doorway.

"It shouldn't take this long to make a couple of sandwiches," McCormick began and then appearing in the doorway, "Didn't you hear me, there's a John Wayne movie starting and I _know_ you don't want to miss that." McCormick stopped in his tracks and saw his clothes haphazardly lying on the floor and Milt just sitting at the table. "Judge? What the hell? What's the matter?"

The Judge quickly re-grouped, "Nothing's the matter. I think that smoke got to me, I just needed to sit down. I'll get to the sandwiches right away."

McCormick came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a couple of pats before he went over to the refrigerator. "Stay put, I'll get 'em made. Or better yet, you should go take a shower and get yourself cleaned up." He opened the door and said, "Hey good, you got beer in here, I bet we both could use a couple of these huh?" He pulled out two bottles.

"McCormick, it's not even ten in the morning," the Judge tried to object.

"Judge if this was just a regular day, then I'd probably agree with you, but I can honestly say I think we both deserve this right about now."

Hardcastle relented, "Yeah, you're right, give me one." McCormick grabbed the two bottles and brought them over to the table. Then he started in on making the sandwiches.

"The movie is something called 'Flying Tigers,'" McCormick kept talking, quick to change the subject, "I don't think I've seen that one yet, you probably saw it what, a hundred times?"

Hardcastle took a swig of his beer, "Yeah, that's a good one, a war flick, I probably saw it twenty times, but we'll make it twenty one." He did a good job of hiding his rapidly beating heart from the kid's view.

They both tried to forget about the fire for a few hours.

OOOOO

Terrance Shaw did his grocery shopping as the sun began to set. Not only were their less people out in the supermarket at that time, but he had always felt like he belonged to the nighttime and not to the daylight.

_It makes you seem like some sort of vampire_, he thought to himself as he plucked up the usual items, milk, juice, bread, some ground beef, noodles and cereal. He was hardly a vampire, just a scientist, maybe a bit on the odd side, but he liked what he liked and felt no need to justify it to anyone else.

_If I didn't appreciate the darkness, then people who want the daylight wouldn't be so affected by my discoveries. They'll make all the difference in the world. They'll all see that soon enough._

A lady passed by him and asked if he'd help her reach something on the top shelf, he gladly offered his assistance. _See, not so bad after all, I'm a helpful guy_.

OOOOO

Back at the apartment, he had spread out numerous copies he had made from various newspaper clippings, all of them about the exploits of Hardcastle and McCormick, LA's own version of Batman and Robin. His 'research' had served him well. It had only taken him a few hours at the library to discover so much about this locally famous pair. And just like at Bach Electric, things had gone so smoothly. He could go on like this forever.

He reread each article over and over until he memorized everything in them and studied each picture of them as well. He felt like he knew them as well as they knew each other by what had been written of them. There was just so much useful information in each of the stories.

He picked up an article that actually was a duplicate of a story he already had read. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it to the corner edge of the Xeroxed paper, lit it and watched it disintegrate before his own eyes. When it finished burning, he glanced around his living space, smiled to himself, put his lighter back in his pocket, picked up another blue box and headed out into the darkness.

He was anxious to get the coming day's newspaper to see the morning headline, then he'd head back to the library to do some more research on some other people he'd thought about. He needed to find out where they lived.

OOOOO

Displaced again. The frustration in Mark McCormick was evident. Just when someplace started feeling like something that resembled home, the rug got pulled out from under him. Odd as it sounded, he even had gotten 'used to' Quentin and his confining cell after awhile. There was nothing he hated more than having to gather up his meager belongings and have some yahoo guard come and tell him that he had to change cells. He wasn't a con who caused problems on the inside, so invariably he'd get placed with a con that did, and when the con got out in one way or another, usually other, meaning solitary, he'd get the bad end of the stick and have to move in with some other trouble maker. In two years, he had twelve cellie's. Only Buddy Denton was the exception to the rule. He was Mark's first cellie, and then he was released. All the rest went to solitary.

And now this fire and another address change of sorts. He wasn't complaining about the Judge's generosity of a guest room at Gulls Way, but it just wasn't home, it was another move again.

Part of him was afraid to go to sleep while the other part was unable to get comfortable in the guest room, as every time he moved, he would begin to cough. He propped up a pile of pillows and attempted to sleep on an angle, but that wasn't working either. He sat up in the bed and pondered what to do next, when he heard Hardcastle down the hall, also begin to cough. The two of them must have clearly been some sort of sight to see.

McCormick was also still worried about seeing the Judge in the kitchen earlier in the day. He obviously had overdone things by running into a burning building to try to find him. Mark also knew there was no way to convince him that he should have probably gone in the ambulance and stayed overnight in the hospital. The only way he'd have done it, would have been if McCormick would have gone as well. And that wasn't going to happen. There were equal, but unique amounts of machismo going on at Gulls Way. He pulled his right foot out from under the sheet and blanket and began to rub at it.

He'd keep a close eye on the crusty old donkey and if his cough got any worse or didn't go away in a few days, he'd drag him down to see Charlie, Hardcastle's own doctor. He really must have overexerted himself, Mark thought back to the kitchen, because Milt was as white and pale as a ghost when he had come in and a thin line of sweat was forming on his hairline. He kept watching him closely as he had made the sandwiches and it seemed like he began to get his color back in short order, still the donkey wasn't as young as he liked people to believe.

Needless to say, here it was about twelve hours later and it was all still bothering Mark.

He waited to hear the Judge stop coughing, which he did. Then McCormick began to wonder if something had happened to him or not. Was he in respiratory arrest? Was he choking? Should he get up and check? _NO! _He'd think that would be ridiculous. Mark tried to lie down again, but his own coughing started up all over again. His throat and lungs had begun to feel like a jagged glass fragments early on in the afternoon and every cough he took just intensified the ache. He grabbed the glass of water at his bedside and tried to drink it down, but that hurt too.

_Now what? _Sleep was not coming for so many reasons.

He got up out of the bed and padded his way out of the room, down the hall, past Hardcastle's room and stopped for a brief moment and listened. He heard the Judge cough once and then heavily breathe. He relaxed momentarily knowing that he was okay for the time being.

Down the stairs he went, into the den. He grabbed the TV remote and flipped on the TV, the sound as quiet as possible, as he plopped down in one of the leather chairs. He settled in with a rerun of _Mission Impossible_. That's it, he thought, a little Peter Graves and Greg Morris would take his mind off his own problems. He wasn't really concentrating on the plot or the story, but he was too tired to try to read and he really only wanted to sleep and he hoped that somehow, he'd drift off while he sat up in the chair. He tucked his right foot underneath his body and started to rub it.

McCormick spotted the card sitting on the end table and picked it up and read it. Dr. Carole Murdock. Certified Psychiatrist dealing specifically in fire trauma. Where had Hardcastle gotten this and what for?

Mark tried to replay what he remembered from the whole event, but there was a lot of gray area. He'd slept through a lot of it, and when he did wake up and try to get out of the house, he had inhaled so much smoke that he passed out. What exactly did Hardcastle see? Was it bothering him this much that he needed to see a specialist? Or did he want him to go see this woman? McCormick continued to stare at the card and didn't hear the Judge come into the room.

"Can't sleep?" Milt asked him.

McCormick was startled and he dropped the card to the ground and went to pick it up. "Um, sort of, well, I just keep coughing when I lay down," he began to explain. "I figured I'd sit up and see if maybe I could drift off in a chair."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I thought I'd come down for something to drink. My throat's raw, yours too?" the Judge asked. Mark nodded and glanced down at the card again. Before he could say anything, the Judge kept talking. "This should clear up in a couple of days I think. And to think some people suck in that poison by choice. You sure you didn't hurt your foot, you've been rubbing it all day long?" Hardcastle focused on the kid's foot.

Mark stopped massaging his foot and slid it down to the floor. "It's just a weird itch, it keeps coming on. It doesn't hurt or anything."

Hardcastle nodded, "You want some water or something?"

"No, I'm fine," Mark turned his attention back to the TV. There was an explosion in the scene and both of them flinched as the sound came through the TV speaker. They both watched as one man helped another to his feet to flee from the flames.

Hardcastle reached out and put his hand on the nearby table for support. He could feel his heart begin to race and everything in the room started to spin. "Turn that show….." he didn't get any more words out as everything went black.

McCormick quickly got up and went over to the Judge, who had just missed hitting his head on the table on his way down to the floor. "Judge!" Mark knelt down beside him and started to assist him. Hardcastle quickly was coming around and he pushed away Mark's hand.

"I'm all right," he shoved McCormick's arm away, "I just slipped, that's all, stupid, that's what it was." Hardcastle hurriedly got to his feet. "Turn that show off, neither one of us need to see that garbage all over again right now."

Mark stood up slowly and went and grabbed the remote and changed the channel to appease the Judge. This was a fine line he had to walk. He knew the Judge didn't slip, he was standing still. It was the TV explosion that had triggered the episode and the Judge had passed out briefly. The fire must really have affected him, even though he wouldn't admit it.

The Judge had walked around the table now and took a seat across from where Mark had been.

"I'll get you that water," McCormick said, setting down the remote, but keeping the card in his hand as he went toward the kitchen. At some point he was going to confront the Judge about it.

Milt set his head back and closed his eyes for a second. _Where the hell did that come from?_ The kid is going to think I'm losing it. He tried to take a deep breath, but ended up coughing instead. Before he could think anything else, McCormick came back with a glass of water.

"Here, this might help," Mark said, handing the Judge the glass.

Milt coughed a few more times and then managed to swallow some of the water down. He saw the kid hovering over him and it was making him crazy. "I'm okay, you should sit down yourself." He opted to use the smoke inhalation as an excuse. "I guess I should be just taking it easy around her for a few days, all that smoke is nothing to mess around with."

"Judge, you don't look so good. Maybe you should go to the emergency room," Mark suggested.

That only served to earn him a stern look from the retired jurist. "Yeah, and how are we going to get there, with you in some oversized borrowed clothes and me coughing every five minutes?"

McCormick looked down over the oversized clothes he wore, "I'll call an ambulance or maybe I could just call your doctor and he'd come out here and take a look at you."

"Aw, you're not calling anything or anyone, it's the middle of the night for crying out loud. There's nothing wrong that a couple of days won't clear up," Hardcastle groused.

"Judge, you could have cut your head wide open on that table."

Hardcastle hastily interrupted, "But I didn't, I told you I just slipped, now forget about it."

McCormick didn't budge for a long moment, then he finally took a seat across from the Judge and turned his attention to the TV. This time it was wrestling and neither one of them were really watching it, but it provided them both with an excuse for not talking to each other.

At some point they both drifted off to a restless sleep.

OOOOO

Buried on page 4a of the Friday Morning Metro Section: _Malibu Estate Gatehouse Up In Flames_

OOOOO

The next morning McCormick woke up to the smell of bacon frying. He nearly gave himself a whiplash, not realizing at first that he still was sitting nearly upright in the leather chair. He made his way toward the kitchen where he saw Hardcastle busy at the stove top. Milt must have heard him coming because he turned and saw him standing in the doorway.

"Hey there kiddo, I figured some food would bring you running."

In an almost non-existent voice, McCormick replied, "I thought something was burning in here."

"Nope, nothing burning, that was yesterday, today's a new day! Just a good, hot meal for a change. Breakfast is the most important one you know? What happened to your voice?" The Judge finally thought to ask.

Again, barely audible McCormick responded, "The firemen said this would probably happen. It doesn't really hurt, I just lost my voice for a few days." He added a cough for some sure to be added sympathy.

"Well, sit down there and I'll dish you up some grub, that might help," Hardcastle motioned.

McCormick made his way over to the table. "Did you get any sleep?" He wheezed.

"Me, yeah, well a couple of hours anyway. I feel a whole lot better this morning."

McCormick eyed him up suspiciously, "Like nothing ever happened?"

The Judge was quickly putting the bacon onto a plate and bringing them toward the table. "No, not like nothing ever happened, the crud is out of my lungs though. I can take a deep breath again." McCormick nodded his understanding without talking. "Maybe we should run you into town though and have a doctor take a look at you?"

Mark scrunched up his face and said in a whispered voice, "No, I'll be all right. Besides, I'm not exactly dressed to go out in public," motioning to his oversized hand-me-down clothes. "I've survived worse than this. Heck, I'm living with you right?"

"Funny!" Hardcastle sat down across from him, "Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor in all this."

"Judge, at the end of the day, all I ever seem to have left is my sense of humor," McCormick said in his soft voice.

"Aw come on now, you got a lot, like this," Hardcastle said, pointing to the breakfast, "Eat your food, that'll help cure what ails you."

McCormick reluctantly obeyed the command and started in on the bacon. He admitted to himself that it did taste really good. He glanced over at the Judge a few times, who was by now immersed in his own plate of food as well as the morning paper. Something was up with him, McCormick was 99 percent sure about that. And whatever it was, Hardcastle was hiding it well. He was just about to ask him about the card for the doctor that he had found in the den, when someone was knocking on their door.

"Stay there and finish your breakfast," Hardcastle said, pointed at his plate, "It's a little early for visitors. It's probably someone who heard about the fire."

Milt got up and went to the front door. It was the fire captain. "Captain?" Milt questioned as he opened the door and held out his hand as a greeting.

"Judge Hardcastle, good morning, how are you feeling today?" the Captain replied.

"Much better," he said, "the kid's not doing so well though, lost his voice overnight. Come on in, I can offer you a cup of coffee, and what's left of breakfast."

"Thank you, I'd like the coffee, if that's alright?" Both men walked through the house into the kitchen.

"Mr. McCormick, I hear you lost your voice?" the Captain asked Mark.

Mark nodded as he finished up his breakfast, followed by a quiet, "Yeah," followed by a "please, call me Mark."

"Sorry to hear that," the Captain said, "The good news is that it only lasts for a few days. It's happened to me too many times to count. Too bad you're not married, it's great to get sympathy from your wife."

Mark glanced over to Hardcastle and grinned. "Don't expect anything from me pal, in case you don't realize it, we're not married," Hardcastle said.

"Don't want your sympathy Judge, this breakfast already did the trick," McCormick's voice cracked as he softly spoke. But he added the patented grin in a devilish way.

"Yeah, I got a feeling this is going to cost me big time," Hardcastle said as he poured the captain a cup of coffee. "So what else brings you out here this morning Cap? I know it's not my coffee."

The Captain eyed up the Judge. "No sense in beating around the bush is there Judge?"

"You must have some sort of news for us?" Hardcastle asked.

The Captain took a sip from his cup of coffee. "The fire was arson."

"Arson? Someone set it on purpose? Why? How'd it start?" Milt questioned.

The Captain hesitated but then decided to proceed, "From inside, near as we can tell from some wiring right outside of the kitchen wall. I've read about something similar but this is the first time I've actually seen this for myself. We think that some sort of detonating device is used, but it gets obliterated by the fire so there's no real way to trace it." The Captain ended his statement by looking right at Mark.

Mark sat forward in his chair leaning on the table and eked out in his stressed voice, "What's that supposed to mean? You think I started a fire and tried to kill myself? That's stupid," he said, trying to raise his voice, but the hoarseness engulfed him.

"Well, that would be one explanation," the Captain said.

Hardcastle looked over at McCormick and could see his temper starting to rise but it was too late, Mark got up from the chair and began a bit of a rant.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," his tired voice straining. "I know I've done some dumb things before but arson and suicide don't make the top of my list, heck, they're not even on my list. I wouldn't know the first thing about those 'device' things."

Milt decided to interrupt him before it went any further. "McCormick calm down. No one is suggesting that you did this. Both the Captain and I aren't pointing any fingers at you."

"Are you kidding me? I lived in there, it started inside, of course he's thinking I started it." McCormick tried to clear his throat, but his voice was still straining. "You better believe I didn't do this. I can boost a car but I don't know the first thing about making a bomb."

"Listen, sit down, maybe the Captain has some more news for us, there's no sense to get all worked up over this, and of course I don't think you'd do that."

McCormick refused to sit down, choosing instead to go over by the counter and lean against it.

"I didn't mean to suggest you did it Mr. McCormick," the Captain began, "I do have some background on the two of you, thanks to the police and I understand you might have some enemies from the type of work you do."

Mark didn't say anything, allowing for Hardcastle to do the talking, and that was probably good on two counts, first it would save his voice and secondly, right now the Judge was doing a better job at keeping emotions out of it. "Yeah, we probably do, in fact I remember putting away an arsonist or two when I was on the bench. They might be out and about and back up to their old tricks."

The Captain smiled, "I was hoping you'd say that and I'd appreciate you checking into it too. There's an obvious pattern to the kind of fire this was and it's not matching up with anything I'm familiar with. We had a fire of suspicious nature a few days before this one, but it was at a local shop and we haven't been able to tie the two together yet. I'd be grateful for any information you could provide us with."

"Of course, I'll try to get to the files today and see what I can find," Milt said.

Mark finally spoke up again, "So someone actually was in there when I was sleeping and set it?"

"Not necessarily," the Captain began to explain, "It appears that the wiring could have been tampered with and then perhaps it was somehow triggered remotely. Because the device is burned up, there's no way to really know"

"Then it's not only arson, it's attempted murder?" Hardcastle said.

The Captain nodded, "Exactly!"

"I was the target?" Mark asked.

"You could be, do you have any enemies that you're aware of Mark?" the Captain wondered.

"Well, since I've been working with Hardcase, yeah. Every time we catch someone they threaten us."

"What about prior to the two of you joining forces, do you recall anything from prison?"

"Enemies?" Mark questioned, "Nah, I got along with everyone. That was how I survived, you know?"

"Were you aware of any arsonists while you were inside?" The Captain asked.

McCormick turned his gaze away from both of them and paused before he said anything. "Of course there were, but none of them were my enemies or out to get me."

"It could be someone on the fringe McCormick," Hardcastle added. "Just keep it in the back of your head and see if you remember anyone or anything."

McCormick nodded his understanding.

"I best be getting back to work," the Fire Captain said, "I'll be in touch though."

"Thanks Cap," Hardcastle said, shaking his hand and leading him to the front door.

OOOOO

McCormick went into the den and waited for Hardcastle to enter.

"Don't even get started McCormick, and I'm only going to say this once more and then consider it dropped, " Milt said, walking down the few steps to take a seat behind his desk. "No, I don't think you started it."

"I didn't say anything," McCormick said.

"Yeah, but I know how that curly head of yours goes off on a tangent and never lets go."

McCormick completely asked the unexpected question, "Then why did you have this card sitting out?" He held up the card for Carole Murdock.

The Judge stood back up and reached over and plucked the card out of Mark's hand. "What is it? Oh, Carole's card," he said, quickly glancing at it.

"So you know her?"

"Of course I know her, she's been in and out of my court as an expert witness quite a few times."

McCormick was not satisfied to say the least.

The Judge sat back down. "It's not for you, unless you want to go see her?" Milt tossed out. "She's great at what she does, totally confidential," he watched the kid for any reaction and none came. "The Captain gave me the card yesterday, just in case either of us needed to talk to some one and I guess I left it out because like I said, I know Carole."

"So, are you going to call her?" He paused, not waiting for an answer and seemed to be satisfied with the Judge's explanation. "That's it huh?" McCormick asked.

"Yes, that's it, like you said McCormick, you do a lot of goofy stuff, but arson and attempted suicide aren't something I'd peg ya for. We'll figure out who did this." He waited for McCormick to say something but there was just silence between them. In his usual brunt way he asked, "Do _you_ want to talk to her?"

Mark looked away for a moment and then he eyed up Hardcastle. "I don't know, maybe."

Milt thought about offering to make the introduction, but before he said anything out loud, Hardcastle handed the card back to him. "Here, hang on to this, you don't have to tell me whatever you decide. She's strictly confidential, you can trust her." And with that Hardcastle dropped the topic of Carole Murdock and turned his attention to digging out the files on all the arsonists he had in his courtroom prior to his retirement.

OOOOO

_That's it?_ Only about 150 words in the _LA Times_ on the fire at Gulls Way, but admittedly he thought the damage would be much more severe and he actually hoped that there would have been at least one fatality. There was no such luck. Now he'd have to figure out what to do from here.

He couldn't just let it go, he was merely getting going. Next time he'd get page one and over 500 words.

He started to make another blue box.

OOOOO

Terrance Shaw had a headache as he entered his lab. His head hadn't throbbed like this since at least ten years earlier when he was still serving time in San Quentin.

OOOOO

The next few days went along much the same way. McCormick was able to salvage some clothes in order to get him to the store to buy some new ones. The renovation and repair to the gatehouse was going to take a lot longer. While Milt was busy with his files, Mark spent his time out in the gatehouse trying to recover what he could, and throwing out whatever was ruined. Many of the artifacts that Milt and Nancy had collected were destroyed or had significant fire, smoke and water damage. A few of the paintings were taken down and brought to an art restorer for hopeful repair.

McCormick never had many things to begin with, yet sorting through his clothing and belongings left him feeling more alone than he'd been in a long time. He knew they were only things, but the sudden shock of having absolutely nothing hit him hard, he couldn't even find the words to describe how he was feeling. He grabbed a load full of rotten-stench filled clothing and took it outside to the dumpster they had rented and tossed it in. Some uncontrollable urge in him wanted to grab at his right foot. He didn't understand what kept gnawing at him to do that. He suddenly felt like he needed air and he tried to take in a deep breath, but with the nearby dumpster, all he could smell was garbage and smoke. McCormick took a few steps away in a panic until he couldn't smell anything bad. He leaned over, hands on knees until he felt like he was back to normal.

This was crazy, he was loosing his mind. He reached back to the pocket of his jeans and pulled the card out of his wallet and decided to give Carole Murdock a call. He walked over to the house and decided he'd tell Hardcase he was going for a drive and then he'd find a pay phone he could call her from and set up an appointment, or better still, he'd drive over to her office and set something up face to face.

OOOOO

"Mr. McCormick, please come in, I'm Carole Murdock," the elderly lady held out her hand confidently and let him pass by her into the stunningly decorated office.

"Nice to meet you too, please call me Mark," McCormick managed to say, his voice coming back a little more each day.

"My receptionist told me that you were involved in a house fire about five days ago?" Carole followed behind him and indicated for him to sit down wherever he'd like to.

McCormick chose the soft, easy chair and Dr. Murdock took the sofa across the way.

"Um, yes, that's correct, I got your card through a mutual acquaintance, Judge Milton Hardcastle," he tossed out, and added, "the fire captain gave it to him at the scene, but the Judge, he said that he knew you too and said you were an expert in this field."

She smiled warmly, "Milt said that huh?" She didn't sound surprised that he thought she was an expert, but rather that he'd admit it out loud to someone. "Yes, Milt and I go back quite a few years as a matter of fact. You wouldn't happen to be the young man who lives out at Gulls Way would you? His partner?"

McCormick put his head down for a moment, it was another person who knew the story, but then quickly rose back up to face her, "Yeah, that would be me."

There was that 'motherly' smile again. It wasn't condescending at all, merely motherly in that good, chocolate chip cookie on a cold November day, sort of way. It was this nature/nurture of hers that started to put him at ease. "Oh my goodness, we've all heard the stories about you two and the wonderful work you do together." He grinned at the knowledge that he and Hardcastle were becoming somewhat notorious around the Judge's acquaintances. Before he could comment, she continued to talk, which was helping to put him at ease. "Judge Mason told us a story at a dinner party a few weeks back about one of your cases and he said that Milt was driving some tiny little sports car and that he practically smashed it up by driving it through a construction area."

Mark recalled the exact case she was talking about and confirmed it to be true. "Yeah, that's my car he was driving and yes, he really did it. I've got the repair bill to prove it. I needed a new suspension after that."

"I hope he paid for it?" Carole asked jokingly.

"He did, and for the twelve bullet holes in the bodywork too," McCormick added with a fond smile.

"Oh my! You know I never would have thought that Milt had such an active disposition toward action and adventure. Perhaps I should have realized it by his somewhat aggressive nature in his courtroom, but honestly, this is a whole new side to him that I was totally unaware of," Dr. Murdock explained.

"Sometimes I think if he'd have gotten it out of his system back in his younger days, that he could just sort of enjoy his retirement now, like most men his age," Mark said.

"He seems to be enjoying himself, so what's the real harm?"

Mark was going to come up with a smart quip for an answer, but suddenly his thoughts turned to the fire and he didn't say anything. Dr. Murdock noticed it right away. Her training and education were clearly evident. She noticed everything, and he noticed that as he spoke to her.

"That was very callous of me to say Mark, I apologize, you two do some very serious and intense work. I didn't mean to imply it was all fun and games."

Mark gave her a nod of his head. "It's okay, I guess I'm just a bit sensitive these days. That's why I guess I decided to call you. I'm not usually like that. I haven't really felt like myself since the fire and it doesn't feel right."

"Why don't you tell me what happened, or what you remember and we'll go from there?" Dr. Murdock said.

Mark proceeded to tell her what he could remember about the whole incident and while he was speaking he crossed his right leg and began to hold onto his foot. Dr. Murdock noticed it right away and made a mental note to keep an eye on it. Perhaps it was just a nervous habit, but she first noticed it when Mark talked about seeing flames shoot up to the loft area where he was sleeping. She allowed him to recall the entire memory, not wanting to interrupt him. There would be plenty of time to discuss the fire after he told her what he remembered.

"And the next thing I knew, I was outside the house, lying on the ground with a couple of paramedics hovering over me and giving me some oxygen." Mark completed his memory and sat back a little more comfortably in the chair, relieved that he had finished telling the experience.

"Did you go to the hospital?" Dr. Murdock asked him.

"Um no, we uh, we both seemed to be well enough by the time the fire got put out, so we just stayed at home. Or maybe the two of us were just too stubborn to go. It took me a few days to get it out of my system, I lost my voice too from breathing in all that smoke."

"It hasn't been that long now Mark, have you gone to see a doctor yet, just to get checked out physically?"

"No, but really I'm fine now," he assured her.

She nodded her understanding and moved on to other topics. "As you know Mark, fires can be very devastating. You were living in the gatehouse right?"

"Yep, for almost two years now."

"Were you able to salvage any belongings?" Carole asked.

Mark shook his head no, "All my clothes were ruined and quite a lot of the Judge's furnishings too, most everything in there belonged to him. I think we'll be able to have some of his paintings repaired and I had a few personal things, some trophies and pictures mostly that I can salvage."

"That can take a toll on you, losing so much."

"I guess I never had that much to begin with, I feel bad for the Judge though, one of the paintings was a Picasso."

She was somewhat surprised by his answer. Most people would have some real sadness when it came to even losing clothing which could easily be replaced, but he appeared to be more concerned with the Judge losing his belongings. She took a different approach with him. "Ah, so you've gone on a new clothing shopping spree?"

"I got a few new things, that'll keep me going for awhile. It's not like a need a closet full of business suits or evening wear. And the Judge helped me out with that as well, financially that is. You know the smoke damage is bad enough, but you're not really prepared to see the damage that all the water makes. I think that's almost worse."

By now he was tugging at his right foot as he sat with his leg crossed.

Dr. Murdock still wanted to proceed slowly with him, and see if he could come to his own realizations regarding the fire and to see if there was a reason behind the foot rubbing. She was almost certain that there was much more going on behind his personable visage. "What have you been doing the rest of the week?"

"Mostly cleaning stuff up out there. I've been wanting to rip the carpeting up, but the Judge said to wait till it dried out a little more, then he decided he'd hire someone to come out and do it anyway. I guess if there's anything good about this, is that the place will be completely renovated when it's all said and done," he said optimistically.

"It's not always the best way to renovate though," Carole suggested.

He agreed. "The fire department thinks the fire was set deliberately, arson, so the Judge and I are also trying to look into that, since it's right up our alley anyway. I'm sure that'll keep me busy in the coming weeks."

"Honestly Mark, it sounds like you've been doing exactly the kinds of things that I'd suggest you to do. Take it slow and easy, but keep moving forward, try to keep working, and don't be afraid to talk about the fire. You need to let out your feelings."

He took a deep breath, "That's one of the reasons I decided to call you. The Judge, well, he doesn't exactly welcome talking about your feelings. He'll tolerate it for a few minutes, but he quickly moves on."

"It's good that you recognize that," Dr. Murdock said.

"Yeah, well that's the easy part, sometimes the Judge, he's like an open book, but just when I think I have him figured out, he goes and does something that completely floors me."

"Friendship's can be unusual."

"You're telling me," Mark said, relaxing even more. He set his foot back on the floor, now that the conversation had drifted away from the fire.

"My suggestion would be for now, that you continue doing the types of things you've been doing and why don't you come back again next week and we can see how things are going then?" Carole suggested.

"Yeah, I would like that, I feel better already actually. I think this was a good idea to pursue," Mark expressed.

"Terrific, that's good to hear, I'll have Marilyn set up a date and time with you," she said rising to her feet and leading him out to the reception area. "If anything comes up in the interim Mark, please don't hesitate to call me."

"Thank you Dr. Murdock."

OOOOO 

"So where you been McCormick?" the Judge asked as Mark walked into the kitchen.

"I, uh, just had some errands to run, that's all. I thought I mentioned to you last night that I'd be busy this morning," Mark began, not wanting to go into any more detail about his whereabouts.

"You might have, I could have forgotten, I don't remember," the Judge shook his head. "I thought we were going to chase down this lead though," the Judge said.

McCormick scowled up his face, "Judge, you never forget anything. Is something else bothering you?" Hardcastle's comment and his perplexed face led Mark to think something wasn't quite right. 

"No, nothing's bothering me McCormick, except I want to find out who tried to burn down my gatehouse and maybe kill you in the process."

"Well, get in line on that one. I want a piece of that action too. I don't like it when people try to kill me," McCormick said.

Hardcastle dropped the forgetfulness conversation, "It doesn't matter, listen, let's go run this guy down at the police station and see what we can find. He's the only arsonist from my courtroom who is out now," the Judge said, thrusting a file in McCormick's direction.

McCormick picked it up and started to read. "Terrance Shaw? What'd he do?"

"He started fires McCormick, sheesh, what do you think?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Did he kill people too?" His eyes busily scanned the file.

"Not when I had him in court, he just liked to burn buildings down, but I think he's been out for about ten years now," the Judge explained. "I was at his parole hearing, there was conclusive evidence that showed he was rehabilitated. He even was working on a college degree."

"And all of a sudden he started setting fires again?" Mark wasn't convinced.

"I didn't say he wasn't guilty, but I think we can check him out and make sure he's keeping his nose clean."

McCormick was still reading. "This says he threatened you in court?"

Milt nodded, "Yep, twice actually, told me he'd see me fry before he did, but I got that a lot."

McCormick eyed him up with a smirk, "Gee, I wonder why? But come on, he really said that, fry? That's sort of scary."

Hardcastle wasn't surprised with McCormick's sarcasm, "McCormick, I don't make up stuff like that, yes he said those exact words, it's there in the court transcript from his sentencing hearing if you don't believe me."

"So why didn't he torch this house if he wanted you?" Mark's mind was going a mile a minute.

"I don't know, some sort of a warning maybe? Heck, we don't even know if it's him McCormick. Can we just go down to the police station and run him through the computer. I don't know all the answers but believe me, I have the same questions. Can we just go now?"

OOOOO

"So that didn't get us any more information than we had back at the house," McCormick said, as they exited the police station and headed for the Judge's pick-up truck. "We don't even have a current address on him."

"We'll check with Parole and Probation and get the most current one they have," the Judge began, "Maybe he's still listed with them."

"I don't get it, I thought the police kept up and this sort of stuff, and how can DMV not have him in their records?" McCormick ranted.

"McCormick, I don't have all the answers, but you're giving me a headache."

Mark went to open the door of the truck but stopped and peered over the hood to Hardcastle. "I don't understand why you're not more upset over this whole thing," McCormick suddenly changed his line of questioning, "We could have _died_ in there and," and he suddenly stopped his thought.

"I know that, but we didn't, stop dwelling…." The Judge started to say.

"I'm not dwelling," McCormick said, lifting the truck lever and getting in, "But you seem to get more worked up over the likes of Doyle Fredericks than someone who actually tried to take you out."

Hardcastle started up the truck, "That's a bunch of baloney. I'm not going to go off half-cocked McCormick. When have you known me to do that?"

McCormick let out a frustrated exhale, he knew the Judge was right and he was about to admit it out loud. "You're right, that's not you," and then he added, "I don't know why it's not you, Judge, someone tried to turn out our lights permanently!"

The Judge felt his heart begin to race and the sweat started to form on his forehead. He narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on driving and he avoided giving Mark an answer. He didn't even realize that McCormick continued to babble on. Mark had gone from talk of their death, to the renovation of the gatehouse.

"….And the carpet layers are supposed to be out tomorrow right?" he asked Hardcastle.

"What?" the Judge asked.

"The carpet guys? They're going to come out tomorrow and do the job right?" McCormick was surprised by the Judge's preoccupation.

"Um, yeah, tomorrow's the 6th right?"

"Yeah," McCormick answered, "Judge, are you alright?"

"Me? Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, for one thing, you just missed the turn to the Parole and Probation office."

"Nah, that road is closed off for street construction. I gotta go up another block and park behind the building," the Judge easily explained.

McCormick knew that it was the fire that was bothering him whether he wanted to admit it or not. "Judge, maybe you should think about seeing that Dr. Murdock. I mean, you know her anyway. It wouldn't even be like seeing a doctor, heck, you said she's a friend right?"

"No McCormick, nothing about the fire is bothering me, look, you want me to drop you back off at Gulls Way? Because I can do this alone, if it's just going to make you keep thinking about it," his tone was stern and demanding. Little did McCormick know that Hardcastle was already thinking of giving her a call.

McCormick knew better than to mention it again. "Nah, I'm fine, let's go."

OOOOO

It was another day and another opportunity to try out his newest idea. Terrance Shaw began several hours of preparation. The lights on inside the lab were subdued, just enough for him to set up the various pieces of equipment that would be necessary.

He painstakingly placed things around the room and then went about checking and rechecking each piece and every connection.

"It just needs to perfect," he said aloud to the empty room, "that's all, just perfect."

OOOOO

It was after lunchtime, when he decided to take a break and read the morning's newspaper. Page after page of stories, until he found an article with another name he remembered from his past. This was too good to be true. Eliminate the enemy though, at all costs, that was his motto

He stood up and walked over to a nearby table and plucked off a pen. Casually, he went back to the chair and picked up the paper once again and calmly he circled the name over and over and over again.

He set the paper aside and took out a cigarette and lit it up, completely focused on the flame. It was time to make another blue box.

OOOOO

"Another dead end," McCormick said, as they checked the last known address for Terrance Shaw that they had gotten from the Parole and Probation Office. "Now what do we do?"

"I got another idea," Hardcastle said, opening up Shaw's file on his desk.

"What? You think the address is going to magically appear in there?" McCormick cracked.

"No, I'm checking on the college that Shaw went to," he paused, "Here it is, Pomona College. It says he was majoring in Physics."

"Big deal, that doesn't give us an address."

"So we call up the school, find out if he graduated and have them check their alumni records, maybe we'll get lucky."

OOOOO

"Milt, I was so surprised when you called. I haven't seen you in such a long time. I think you were still working actually. It might have been the Ryan trial," Carole Murdock sat across from Hardcastle at a fancy downtown restaurant and was completely lost in reminiscing.

"Nah, it wasn't that long ago. I think we saw each other last Christmas at Bill's party," the Judge explained.

"Maybe, either way, it's been far too long. I have heard stories about you though."

"What? From McCormick?" Milt asked, obviously curious about whether or not Mark had seen her.

Carole knew exactly what he was up to, she knew it when he had called her and asked to meet her for lunch, just a day after Mark had seen her in her office. "Who's McCormick?" she said acting innocent.

Her answer threw him for a momentary loop, he thought for sure McCormick had called her and even seen her already. Maybe he was wrong. "Um, Mark McCormick is helping me out with my new line of work, you probably have heard about him."

"Oh yes, the young man you saved from incarceration and now the two of you fight crime on our city streets. I didn't know he had a name, most people just call him your partner."

Milt raised his eyebrow suspiciously, "Who exactly are most people?"

Carole laughed lightly, "Our professional colleagues dear, don't worry, no one ever says anything negative about him or you for that matter. In fact, most people who have met him, say he absolutely charming and that's he's mellowed you a bit too. Sounds like a good combination to me," she joked.

"He's charming all right," Milt mumbled.

The waiter arrived with their menus and asked if they wanted a drink. Then he politely left them to continue their conversation.

"Well, he must be working out, you must like him. You've had the arrangement with him for over a year now haven't you?" Carole said. "If things weren't going smoothly, I'm sure you'd never have agreed to keep him around now would you?"

"Yeah, I guess it's going on a couple of years already," Milt began, "He's a pretty good guy after his mouth settles in and when he does what I tell him to do," punctuating it with his usual grouse about McCormick.

"You know I've heard that people who have relationships that are challenging live longer lives," Carole suggested arching her eyebrows suggestively.

"Then I ought to live as long as Methuselah," Hardcastle cracked, "He challenges me on everything." That brought a hearty laugh to Carole. And that was one thing that Milt always liked about her, her ability to show her true emotion, and not be embarrassed about it. He couldn't help but laugh along with her. "He's a smart kid, I gotta admit that, and it's been good having him around. I think we do some good work together. The guys we put away would probably disagree."

She could see and hear the sincere and obvious feeling he had for McCormick. "Wasn't there just a fire out at your place? I think I read something in the paper about it?"

He nodded, "Yeah, 'bout a week ago. The kid was living out in the gatehouse, that's where the fire was." Milt suddenly looked away from her and fixated his gaze on the nearby window. "It was pretty bad," he admitted quietly. "It pretty much gutted out the inside."

"No one was injured though?" she asked. "I don't recall from the article that anyone got hurt?" He didn't answer right away, "Milt?" she questioned. "Was anyone injured?"

"Um, no, we both got out."

"You both were in there?"

He finally returned his eyesight to her. "He was in there, I was in the main house and saw it was on fire and ran over there to get him out." He attempted to take a deep breath, but he realized his own heart was pounding double time in his chest. "We both could have died. We both were overcome by smoke. Thank God the fire department got there as fast as they did."

"Oh my, I had no idea Milt. If I'd have known, I would have called you sooner. We could continue this at my office if you'd like?" She was gracious to make the offer, knowing that someone with Milt's 'old world' personality, that he would never take the first step in talking with a shrink.

"Me? No, I'm fine, I thought maybe for the kid, could I send him over? You can just send the bill to me and I'll take care of it."

It was time for Carole to walk that delicate line of doctor/patient relationships. She would keep Mark's visit from him, she had to. At first glance she realized she probably went too fast with Milt. His initial reaction to telling her about the fire was clear enough to her that the fire was indeed bothering him, but she also knew Milt well enough to know that meeting her for lunch was his answer to what he would think of as therapy. "Of course Milt, I'd be glad to see him if he's interested." She quickly added, "I was thinking of you too though, and this is my area of specialty. I might be able to help."

He mustered up a nervous smile and he obviously knew what she was up to. "I thought lunch could count for my session."

"It can," she returned the smile, "but I do charge double time when I have to work through a meal."

"Isn't the fact that I'm picking up the tab enough?" Milt attempted to lighten the mood.

"Lunch is a given, my friend," she answered as the waiter came and set their respective lunches in front of them. She decided to let him proceed, knowing that this might be all the 'advice' he'd go for. The doctor in her would not turn him away and besides, he was a good friend.

"So this is going to cost me big time huh?"

"Why don't you tell me what happened and we'll go from there," Carole picked up her fork and began to eat, while Milt related the events of the fire to her. His recollection was eerily familiar to Mark's version, but he did have some different insights and facts that he also shared, which served to fill in a few more holes for her. When he got through, she said to him, "Have you always done that?" 

"Done what?"

"You are masterful at giving very detailed information, facts, about things, but Milt, this fire was at your home, and you and someone you obviously care about nearly perished. It's okay to have some emotion and feelings about that as well."

Milt looked a little stunned by her comments. "I care."

She decided to not continue to be quite so brazen. "I apologize, I know you do, otherwise you'd never have called me out to lunch in the first place," she began, "I'm just surprised by how you seem to manage to keep them separate, distanced off from what you're actually feeling. You described the type of flames in great detail Milt, but you managed to sort of brush over the part of seeing Mr. McCormick unconscious. Honestly Milt," she mimicked him, "So I tried to wake him up and get him out? And the next thing you told me was that you were outside watching the fireman try to put out the flames again."

"I told you I blacked out too, there's nothing I remember after that," he defended himself, "Aw, you make me sound like some sort of robot," he continued to eat his lunch.

"You wouldn't be the first person to do that Milt."

"Well, you asked me what happened. I don't remember what happened between those things, I passed out too."

"I'm just suggesting that some people might share their feelings over seeing a friend lying unconscious in the midst of a fire," Carol added.

Milt finished chewing and then said, "Okay, suppose that is what I'm doing, how do I fix it?" He completely chose to ignore her suggestion and to instead cut right to the solution.

She laughed, "It's not that simple Milt, it's not like a light switch on or off." She could see he was listening but not fully understanding. "Can you even tell me how you felt about seeing him lying there?" The silence filled the space between them. "You may not want to admit it, but there is a need for doctors like me." She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his, "I can help you with this," she said.

"See, I knew that's where you were going with this. You think I'm crazy and that I need to come in have you examine my head," Milt got defensive.

"If it would make you feel better, we don't have to use my office. I can make house calls, or we can find some neutral site to meet?" she offered, "Like this, I do enjoy a good, _free_ lunch with a handsome retired jurist from time to time? And seeing you getting your blood pressure worked up is a good thing too," there was that honest laugh of hers again.

"How do you even know that this is what's bothering me?" Hardcastle asked her.

"You called me and invited me out to lunch remember? When have you ever done that before? And if it's not the fire, it's something else."

There was a bout of silence between them, until Milt finally spoke up. "Maybe you're right Carole." He tried to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I guess I'm hoping that time just sort of fixes everything, but I don't know, every time I think about seeing those flames shooting out of the windows and then seeing him there lying in a heap on the floor, it makes my heart race. Is that just a normal reaction?"

"To some extent it is Milt, but since it seems to be troubling you, my first instinct would be to talk this through with you a little more. I don't want to force you though, I know you're not comfortable with it."

"Honestly Carole, I'm more worried about McCormick. He's acting different, sort of distant. He usually tells me everything and anything that's on his mind, making his smart aleck remarks as always, but it almost seems like there's something he's hiding. And there's this thing with his foot that I don't get."

"Do you think he started the fire?" Carole posed the question to him, ignoring the foot for the time being, since she had noticed it as well.

Hardcastle scoffed at the suggestion. "The fire captain suggested that too, and no, emphatically no, he didn't start it. That I am sure of."

"I'm sorry Milt, I had to ask," she offered, noting his quick defense of McCormick. She knew Mark hadn't started it, but she wanted to make sure Milt didn't think he did either.

"I know, I guess there's some deep part of me that probably thought of that too initially anyway, is that natural?" Hardcastle wondered. "I just know him well enough to know he'd never do that."

She nodded the affirmative. "I think it probably is, but there's another part of you, a bigger part that knows he wouldn't. There's nothing wrong in thinking either thing, it's human nature. We always have this need to blame someone or something for bad things."

He nodded his understanding in silence. "I really appreciate you taking the time here today Carole," he softly started, hoping that that was saying enough.

"Don't worry Milt, this will cost you, favors and my professional expertise don't come cheap."

He looked her in the eye and smiled, "I was afraid of that."

OOOOO

It took a personal appearance by former Superior Court Justice Milton C. Hardcastle for Pomona College to release the current address they had on their graduate Terrance Shaw. The Registrar and Alumni Director recognized him immediately as 'the man who had caught Doyle Fredericks' much to the chagrin and disbelief of McCormick and they realized that the Judge was after yet another 'bad guy.' The best news, however, was that the address was different from the one they'd gotten at Parole and Probation, so there was hope that Terrance would still be living there.

They pulled up and saw that the address was not actually a place of residence but rather a warehouse.

"Well, what's this?" the Judge asked, slightly perturbed by the non-residential unit.

"Probably another dead end, who would live here?" McCormick said shaking his head at the sorry decay of the building.

"Let's go inside and check it out, maybe he's in there. Maybe it's all a guy with a physics degree can afford," the Judge joked.

Inside and up the stairs they went. To their surprise, the inside of the warehouse had been remodeled and was subdivided into various offices and rooms. They checked the directory and saw the name, T. Shaw, in office number 314.

They rode up the elevator and knocked on door number 314.

"Who is it?" Came a quiet voice from inside.

"Terrance Shaw? It's Judge Milton Hardcastle," the Judge called back.

"Judge?" Inside the dark room, Terrance began to pace back and forth. "What is it that you want?"

"I want to talk to you Terrance, open up," Hardcastle wasn't messing around.

"I've got nothing to talk to you about Hardcastle, leave me alone," Terrance had moved right behind the door. "I've done nothing wrong, and I don't have to talk to you."

"Terry, come on, I just want to ask you a few questions. I'm not going to send you to prison," the Judge said.

McCormick standing behind the Judge said, "He sounds a little crazy Judge, scared, you know?"

Shaw had his ear pressed against the door and heard what McCormick had said. "I'm not crazy, I just want to be left alone. I've done nothing, please just go away."

Hardcastle gave Mark an annoyed glance. "Terry, I don't think you're crazy, never have, I just want to ask you a few questions, I understand you have a degree in physics."

"A doctorate, actually," Shaw replied, quick to defend his educational background.

"Really? That's terrific Terry, so this is your office huh? Why don't you let us in?" 

"Who is with you?" Shaw questioned.

"Just a friend of mine, Mark McCormick, whatta ya say Terry?"

Mark and Milt both heard the door as it was being unlocked and Terrance Shaw reluctantly opened up the door. "Come in," he said.

Mark McCormick quickly went about accessing the somewhat peculiar man that could hardly look either of them in the eye. He stood about 5'10", small stature, what some might think typical of a guy who spends more time in a lab than out in the California sun.

"I got my doctorate four years ago Judge, from Stanford. He stopped and pointed to his diploma hanging from the wall. Next to it were his undergrad and grad diploma's from Pomona College."

"I had no idea Terry, good for you," Milt said, pausing to admire the work he had done.

"I prefer Terrance Judge, if you don't mind," Shaw said.

"Sure, sorry about that," Hardcastle answered.

"What questions do you have?" Terrance was now quick to cut to the chase, but before the Judge could answer, he added, "I saw the article about part of your estate burning. I can assure you, I had nothing to do with that. I haven't started a fire since 1969, then I spent ten years in prison and realized that I had better learn to control that urge."

"And you've been able to do that?" the Judge wasn't afraid to ask.

"I'm a scientist now, I've worked with major corporations in developing new modes of electricity," Shaw was quick to defend himself. "I've channeled my talent."

"The fire at the Judge's house was electrical in nature," McCormick added.

Shaw turned his attention toward Mark. "I'm sorry that you both were in the fire and for the damage and trauma it's obviously caused you both, but I did not do it, electrical or not. I am no longer an arsonist. Other people have that sickness too. And I'm sure they still hold grudges against you as well Judge."

"Terrance, you admitted in court that you had started over 60 fires, you'd been doing it since you were seven years old. And you threatened me when I sentenced you. You gotta see how it looks."

Terrance remained calm, "Yes, I see how it looks, but Judge I've been out of jail for nearly six years now, without incident. I hold no ill will toward you and I don't even know Mr. McCormick here. And I'll remind you that the fires I set never harmed any living being. Murder was never part of my MO, as you put it."

The Judge knew everything he said to be true.

McCormick wasn't convinced. This guy seemed too odd to him and had answers way to quick. "Where were you when it happened Mr. Shaw?"

Shaw deliberately turned to Mark again to address his question. "Here, in my lab, I'm currently working on a new proposal for the state of Nevada. I'm developing a new way to harness and deliver electrical power that will save consumer's money. I can give you the name of my contacts at their state department. I can even provide you with my entire curriculum vitae if you'd like Judge. Honestly, I've been fortunate to have the career I have," he turned back to the Judge. "You told me in court that day to use my knowledge for something good instead of evil, and I have. That should count for something Judge Hardcastle."

The Judge wasn't quite ready to fully believe him either. "Was anyone with you Terrance to vouch for you?"

Frustrated, Shaw turned around and refused to face them. "See I knew it, no matter what kind of work I've done, no matter how successful I have become, it still would not matter. There's no such thing as reform. To answer your question, no, I was alone. I work better that way. I have no alibi, but I was here and I was working, I just can't prove it to you."

The room was filled with silence.

"I want the names of the people in Nevada, and your resume thing too, just send them over to my house, okay Terry, errr, Terrance, sorry," the Judge said.

Terrance Shaw turned around and mustered up a smile, "I'll put it in the mail this afternoon, I assure you."

OOOOO

"And you're just going to buy that load of malarkey Judge?" McCormick said, slamming the door of the truck. "The guy is a bit of freak."

"McCormick, I know you want to pin this on someone, believe me, I do too, but the guy is a respected scientist and we really don't have any conclusive evidence."

"He's got no alibi," Mark reminded him.

"And he hasn't started a fire in sixteen years. Why would he suddenly take it up again? People do get reformed McCormick, you ought to realize that."

McCormick let the comment slide by, but the hidden compliment had done its job. "Maybe he saw the piece on Doyle Fredericks in the paper and it stirred him up in wanting to see you 'fry,'" McCormick said. "He admitted to reading the paper you know? He knew all about it."

Hardcastle laughed, "Why stop at accusing him then? Let's just point our fingers at the entire subscription base for the Los Angeles Times. You can't convict someone for reading the newspaper kiddo."

McCormick was not satisfied. "There's something strange about him."

"He's a loner, a scientist, that's not a crime McCormick, that's just how he is. I'll do some more checking into his background since he's been out, I'll talk to some people and we'll go from there. Maybe the arson investigator from the fire department has some new information for us. We'll take a run downtown huh?"

"Um, drop me off at Gulls Way, I've got a date this afternoon," Mark said.

"A date on a Tuesday afternoon? What did you get yourself into now McCormick?"

"She's a waitress, she's got weird hours, that's all, we're going to go to a movie matinee, is that a problem?" McCormick had been thinking of the white lie for the last few minutes and it seemed to be working.

"Yeah sure, it's okay, I'll drop you off and go see the Cap myself."

OOOOO

"Mark, there you are, come on in," Dr. Murdock came and stood in the doorway of her inner office.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Hardcastle and I were out tracking down a lead."

"And you haven't told him you were coming to see me, have you?" Her tone had an air of chastising in it, it was that motherly mode of hers all over again, but he really didn't seem to mind it.

Mark was taken aback for just a moment, "No, I haven't," he sheepishly admitted, but then he realized and asked out loud, "But he's coming to see you too, isn't he?"

Carole smiled as she let the cat out of the bag, "Not exactly, he invited me out to lunch."

"A lunch that invariably turned into a session," McCormick shook his head. "He's something else. Wish I would have thought of that actually," Mark laughed and added, "I hope you're making him pay you for you time though."

"He's an old friend Mark."

Mark wanted to continue on in his teasing of the Judge, but instead he got serious when he gave the whole situation some deeper thought, "He is all right isn't he?"

"I can't really discuss that Mark. I probably shouldn't have told you that we had lunch, so it wasn't technically work related."

Mark went into the office and sat down. "I hope that goes both ways," he said.

"Of course it does, though it would be much easier if you two would just tell each other and keep me out of it."

McCormick stifled a laugh, "I'm sorry Doc, but it just doesn't work that way with the Judge."

"Or with you, it is a two-way street Mark. Maybe if you told him, he'd be more honest and open with you."

"I'll take that under consideration," Mark answered.

"So you two are tracking down who set the fire?" Dr. Murdock got right into things with him.

Mark nodded, "Yeah, we've gone through the Judge's files and we're checking into arsonists that he put away that are now back on the streets." He relaxed a little as he began to explain and sat back in the chair.

Carole Murdock noticed it right away again. He crossed his right leg and this time began to sort of nervously tap at it. She listened to him talk about the suspect, but decided when she got the opportunity to interject, she'd ask him about his foot, because it always seemed to happen when the topic turned directly to the fire.

"So, I think the guy is as guilty as sin, but the Judge is basically believing his whole story," McCormick concluded. "Hardcastle really believes in reform."

"Maybe you're in a hurry to find the person who started the fire Mark. You know we all have a tremendous need to place blame," she suggested.

"Sure, I've thought that maybe that's what I was doing, but this guy really gave me the creeps. And he didn't have an alibi either," Mark continued. "I don't know, I guess maybe I've been teamed up with Hardcase long enough to start knowing when someone is being honest or not. The Judge would disagree though, like he did this morning. But he is checking out a few more things before he totally exonerates the guy," McCormick explained.

"How many criminals have the two of you put away?" Carole suddenly asked.

Mark set his foot on the ground and closed his eyes attempting to 'count' the exact number. The discussion had shifted from the fire to something else, something that didn't involve his nervous appendage. Dr. Murdock watched and listened closely, she felt she was on to something with his foot. Mark started to talk, "I think it's like 88, but the Judge would probably say 87, because I don't think he counts Martin Cody as our first case. He says I wasn't officially on the payroll," McCormick laughed. "I did all the work on that one, he didn't even know Cody was bad, but he did get me out of jail in order to catch him, so I guess we could call it even."

"You keep track of them huh?"

Mark shook his head affirmatively. "Yeah, I'm not sure why though, it doesn't have any outcome on my parole."

"How long is your parole?" Carole paused, "If you don't mind me asking."

"Indefinitely," he answered without hesitation.

"How is that even possible?" Carole had to stifle a laugh.

"He's a Judge and I'm an ex-con," Mark said, "I don't think he'll exercise his judicial stay over me for ever. I'm sure he has some sort of plan and I guess at this point in time I'm okay with everything. Although up until last week I did have a roof over my head, so things aren't so bad."

"Milt speaks very highly of you Mark," Carole added, thinking he needed to hear it.

"I know he does, believe me, no one but him would have taken the sort of chance he took on me, remember, he's big on reform. I'll never be able to repay him for that. That's sort of why I'm worried about this whole fire. He's had a couple of, well like, spells or something, since the fire. I know I was scared, but I really can't imagine what it was for him to run into a burning building like he did. Sometimes I don't think I'll ever figure him out. He saved my life and it's like he doesn't even want to acknowledge it. It's not a big deal to him like it is to me. I'm not sure how to help him. I'm glad he's talking to you though." The right foot immediately got crossed and he let his left hand grab and tug at his ankle as he sat. "Who would have thought that a fire could have such an effect on both of us? I still feel unsettled about the whole thing, like there's something I don't quite understand about it myself. It's like even if we find out who started it, it won't give me the answer I need. I know that doesn't make much sense, I just don't know how else to describe it."

That just about did it for Carole. She needed to get to the bottom of his issue with his foot and the fire. "Did you hurt your foot in the fire?"

Mark glanced at his appendage the moment she mentioned it. He knew he was rubbing it, and he knew Hardcastle had also mentioned it right after the fire and he'd questioned himself about it. He didn't know why he was doing it. "Um, I don't think so, I don't know why I keep rubbing it."

"But you have noticed it hmmm?" Dr. Murdock asked.

He nodded yes and pushed his foot off his left leg onto the floor. "Does this mean there's something wrong?"

Instead of answering his question, she asked him one, "Mark, are you open to trying something a little different?"

His immediate reaction showed some apprehension. "I guess I'm open to your suggestions, you're the doctor."

"I promise it's not going to hurt, hopefully it will be a little relaxing."

"What are you going to do hypnotize me?" McCormick asked jokingly, displaying a grin.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, I'd like to try some deep relaxation with you, it's a form of therapy that I've had a lot of success with," she paused, "still interested?" She realized that sometimes her patients didn't like the idea or the suggestion and it would make them uncomfortable. "I think if we try it, maybe we can get to the reason behind you and your foot and help you feel better about the whole situation. What do you think?"

The grin faded away, but he had to say he was slightly intrigued by how exactly this would help. "If you think it'll take this unsettling feeling away, yeah, let's do it. When do we start?"

"We can begin right now if you like?" Carole said.

"Really? Sure, let's give it a try" Mark said, the smile returning to his face. He had heard about hypnosis but never thought he'd actually try it out.

"Okay, it's really very easy to begin, feet on the floor, you can stay in the chair, no need to lay down," she announced, standing up to darken up the room. "This will help," she said, as she closed the blinds, "both of us to concentrate. Now you won't fall asleep but you should feel nicely relaxed when we finish up. And perhaps we'll even get some answers."

He followed her instructions and put his feet solidly on the floor, knees bent and joked, "There's no way you'd ever get Hardcastle to do this, just in case you're wondering. Maybe you'll get a dinner out of him but that's about as far as he'll go. I bet he wouldn't even come to your office."

She knew he was right about Hardcastle and yet she was more happy with his openness to try this form of therapy. "I know he'll never have the nerve to set a foot in my office," she replied and then she tried to steer him back toward the task at hand. She wasn't surprised that he was doing and saying anything to avoid getting started, "Let's not think about him right now all right?" McCormick nodded and tried to get a little serious.

"You think this is really gonna work huh?" Mark asked once more, becoming more curious and somewhat skeptical about the whole situation.

"I know it will. I've seen it work hundreds of times. Now lean back and close your eyes. I want you to concentrate on taking some nice deep breaths, just in and out, over and over, just try to think about your breathing." She watched as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a tiny bit of reluctance. His reaction didn't surprise her. Many people she'd used this type of therapy on all had some form of skepticism to begin with. She saw him take in a deep breath, to attempt to get started. "That's good Mark, keep going, just breath in, deeply and then let it out, just relax, concentrate on your breathing, think about relaxing your whole body."

"This feels ridiculous," he said, letting his lips curl up in the beginnings of a smile, all the while keeping his eyes closed. He was obviously feeling a bit foolish about the whole ordeal. But he was willing to try it, in hopes it would help and she was a trained doctor in this sort of thing, and still he wasn't entirely convinced.

"It's up to you Mark, I can't force this on you, but I've really think we can get to the cause of your unsettling feeling by trying to do this." He didn't answer and she didn't say anything for about thirty seconds, waiting to hear a response from him verbally or to see if he continued on with the breathing exercise. She was hoping for the later. The first sign was seeing his face soften up as if he was attempting to relax. She was pleased that he was trying, that was a good sign. As she waited, she thought to herself that if only he knew how much he and Milt were really alike in their personalities, much more like Father and Son like Milt's colleagues had suggested than merely Judge and Ex-Con that McCormick had suggested. He was more cooperative as far as therapy went though, than Milt Hardcastle would ever be, which to her was more of a sign of the changing times than of anything else.

Carole had sat back down in her chair across from him, after darkening the room and noticed that he still had his eyes closed and he was apparently concentrating on the deep breaths.

He wasn't completely relaxed yet though. She saw his legs still moving restlessly even though they were on the floor. "Mark, if you'd prefer to stretch out your legs, that's fine too. I just want you to be comfortable. Sometimes that's a preferred position."

He didn't say anything, except that he opened his eyes, but looked up at the ceiling rather than at her, he chose to remain silent, but he did stretch out his legs at her suggestion.

He was still caught between the 'can this really work' realm. "I know this seems a little awkward Mark, do you want to stop?"

"No," he said quietly, "I can do this."

She wasn't entirely surprised by his almost stubborn pronouncement. That was a good sign to her that he did want to get the bottom of what was troubling him and she was willing to let him sort of set his own pace with this. She let the silence fill the room once again, in hopes that he would begin to relax on his own. He finally closed his eyes and carried on with the breathing. When Dr. Murdock saw this, she went back to speaking. "Now you're not going to fall asleep Mark, you're merely going to be deeply relaxed, focus on your breathing, slowly, deeply, in and out, then let your body relax, all the muscles, nerves and fibers of your being, just let them all relax, let everything go." She continued on in this manner for another five minutes or so, instructing him to think about being totally calm and relaxed and to clear his mind from any thoughts other than the peaceful, deep, slow breaths he was taking. She realized it was working when his head slightly lolled off to one side and one of his hands slid off his leg on to the chair as near complete relaxation set in. From there it was a matter of moments as the inhibition of all voluntary movement ceased. Mark was indeed a good patient for this type of therapy.

OOOOO

Mark came too with a slight start, blinking and focusing his eyes.

"How do you feel Mark?" Dr. Murdock asked him.

"Um fine, I guess it didn't work though huh?"

"Why do you say that Mark?"

"I remember you talking to me, just having me try to relax. Did I just fall asleep?"

"Not exactly," Carole got up from the chair and went to the windows to begin to lighten up the room. "You did very well, I think you went a little deeper than a light state actually. You've been under for a little over a half hour. This is a good type of therapy for you."

McCormick sat up straighter and checked the time on his watch and was astonished by the time, "Are you telling me that this worked?"

"It was the first session Mark, but you are a very good candidate for this type of therapy. We had a productive start."

"Is that good or bad?" McCormick wondered aloud.

"It's definitely good because I think we will be able to find the source and eventually eliminate the discomfort you've been experiencing from the trauma of the fire."

"What about my foot?" he asked her bluntly.

"We're still working on that, just be patient," she answered.

"But I thought I remembered everything you said, you were just having me relax and I was," McCormick was trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"You did indeed relax, fairly quickly, I might say, once you resigned yourself to giving it a try and you answered some questions for me. Can you recall any of that?"

He sat forward and tried to remember. "No, I can't. I'll be damned. Am I going to go around clucking like a chicken or something else at the absolute wrong time?"

She was surprised and impressed by his question. "You did very well today Mark, I'm a bit surprised by how deep you went for your first time, but no, I didn't give you a post-hypnotic suggestion, but I would like you to come back tomorrow if possible. This therapy works best when we can continue on in a timely manner. Do you think you can make it?" Dr. Murdock asked. "I think you'll be pleased with the results."

"Yeah, I can come tomorrow," he nodded with a sense of intrigued enthusiasm, "I'll make sure I can." He was about to stand up.

Dr. Murdock stopped him. "Take your time there, are you sure you feel fine?"

"Yeah, I do, better than I have been actually," he rose to his feet, "I never would have believed that would work."

"It's all about relaxing." She gave him that motherly smile again. "Same time tomorrow then?"

"I'll be here," McCormick responded.

OOOOO

"Terrance Shaw?"

"Yes," Shaw stood in the doorway and saw himself nearly surrounded by a small army of officers.

"We'd like to take you in for some questioning," the head officer said.

"Why, what did I do? I told Hardcastle I didn't start any fires. I don't do that anymore, I'm a scientist, not an arsonist. He told you to do this didn't he?"

"Mr. Shaw, please, just come with us."

OOOOO

"So where were you all afternoon and why the sudden urge to cook?" Hardcastle had followed McCormick into the kitchen.

"I told you, I had a date, and I have another one tomorrow afternoon," he decided to add while he had the chance to sort of drop it in casually without any feedback. "And I'm cooking because I'm hungry," Mark replied, quickly attempting to change the subject. "What did the Fire Captain say?"

"Nothing new on ours, but apparently there was another fire over on the west side of town, late last night. The investigators were just able to get in to the house today," Milt said. "It burned for over six hours."

"Did they say it started the same way as ours?" Mark anxiously asked.

"They don't know yet, all he said was that it was suspicious, so they were going to pay extra attention to it and look for any similarities. I told them to pick up Shaw for questioning." Milt paused and asked, "What are you going to make there?" pointing at the pots and pans he was getting out.

"Some spaghetti, is that okay?" McCormick was surprised that he had turned in Shaw. "You think he did it?"

"I'm not sure, but he's about the only lead we have right now. We'll let them do their work and see what they get." Milt paused, wanting to end the discussion of Terrance Shaw and so he said, "Spaghetti is fine, sounds good actually. So how was your date?"

Mark cringed out of sight from Hardcastle. He really didn't like fudging the truth, but he wasn't ready to tell Milt about seeing Carole. It was part of that silent man 'code' they had and held in such high esteem. The lying therefore, would have to continue. "It was good, I told you, I have another one tomorrow," he was hoping to just let it end there.

Hardcastle was not satisfied. This was the same guy who invariably gave him way too many details about his love life most of the time and now, two dates on two consecutive days and the kid clammed up. Something wasn't right. "Well, who is she?"

"I told you, she's a waitress, that's why we have to have the daytime dates, she works most nights."

"And I'm thinking that's why you're cooking too huh? She turned you onto food huh? Does she have a name?" Milt began the interrogation.

"Yeah, you figured me out Hardcase, can't hide anything from you now can I? And yes, she does have a name," Mark answered smugly, refusing to give it up.

"But you're not going to tell me huh? Is that what this is all about?" Hardcastle was on a roll, "You know you usually tell me all about your escapades with women, is this _the one_ or something?" Not only did the Judge keep at him, he now took a seat at the table while Mark put the fixings together for their dinner, which meant the conversation was going to go on for however long Hardcastle wanted it to.

"Judge, it's two afternoons, I don't know, maybe there'll be a few more, I'll have to wait and see. Can we just drop it?" He attempted to go back to cooking.

"And until then you're not going to say anything else, is that it?"

"Now you're cooking Hardcase," McCormick teased.

"Is she a blonde?" Milt just couldn't let it go. Maybe he was just as guilty as McCormick was, when it came to all the information that passed between them. He tried to instigate the kid as much as possible.

"Is there anything else Judge? Really?" Mark turned to face Hardcastle on this one and shook his head, the old mule knew his penchant for blondes. "That was a stupid question."

Still there was something a little off with McCormick, he wasn't entirely focused on what he was doing, as the Judge noticed him about to add cinnamon to the sauce rather than the oregano, which was one container below on the spice rack. "Maybe you ought to get the blonde off your mind then sport, we don't want cinnamon in the sauce."

McCormick glanced down at the spice container in his hand and put the top back on and slid it back into the rack and then reached down for the oregano. "I just grabbed the wrong one, that's all, thanks for catching it," he let out a nervous laugh. "Wonder what that would have tasted like though?"

"I'm glad we didn't have to find out," Hardcastle called out, "So, what is her name?"

"You know what Judge, how 'bout you go shoot some baskets before dinner, I'll give you a call when the chow is ready."

Milt gave him a wicked smile. "Already shot my buckets for the day, right now I'm interested in finding out the name of the blonde waitress."

"Too bad Hardcase, I'm not going to tell you," Mark turned around and almost angrily faced him.

His reaction made an impact on Milt. "Okay, okay, I'll drop it, sheesh." He stood up and headed for the den. "I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Judge, I'm sorry," Mark called out, "I didn't mean to bite your head off, I'm just hungry, that's all."

The Judge held up his hand and said, "I'm gonna watch the news, call me when the food is ready."

Mark stood still and watched the Judge trudge off. One of these days he was going to have to come clean about seeing Dr. Murdock, but he hoped he could wait until he done with his sessions. He went back to the spaghetti sauce sitting on the stove and went to turn on the gas flame under it. He took a sharp intake of breath and watched as the burner ignited, then he simply stood there, staring at it. He stopped staring long enough to stir the sauce and put the cover on the pot. Backing up he bumped into one of the kitchen chairs and shakily sat down in it, all the while watching the blue flame of the gas stove. He crossed his leg and went back to rubbing his right foot.

He still hadn't made the connection.

OOOOO

Hardcastle hung up the phone and began to talk to McCormick. "That was the fire captain. Shaw's not saying anything and he keeps claiming he's innocent. He's got all the possible equipment to make up these devices. It doesn't look good for him. They're going to hold him for about 36 hours on a discretionary to see if he slips up."

"You still think he's telling the truth don't you?" Mark asked him.

"I don't know what to believe about any of this anymore kiddo. I'm finding it hard to believe it was just some random fire that we got targeted for. It has to be someone I put away and as much as I hate to think it, it really fits with something that Shaw would do," Milt explained.

"The fire cops will get to the bottom of it, like you said, they have the expertise in this area," Mark offered.

Neither one of them were satisfied with how this was coming out.

OOOOO

McCormick had another restless night of sleep. It was a combination of the new room, the sessions with Dr. Murdock and the nagging sensation that he couldn't quite place that kept gnawing after him. He woke up at the crack of dawn and went downstairs and plucked the paper from the porch.

He walked around back of the house to the patio by the pool and began to read the news section, coming across the story about the latest fire on the west side of town. As he perused the article, he didn't find anything new in regards to how the fire started, but as he neared the middle of the article, he had crossed his leg and began working at his foot yet again, he dropped his bare foot to the cold cement, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Now he knew, he remember everything, it all came flooding back to the forefront of his mind in a giant avalanche of a memory.

He quickly got up and went into the house in search of the Judge and he even began to call out to him, the weird thing was that there was no response.

"Judge, where are you?" he shouted out one last time as he went from room to room. Milt was no where to be found.

McCormick ended up in the den and nearly breezed through it but his eyes were drawn to the open window where he saw Hardcastle standing outside of the gatehouse, seemingly staring at the exterior and not moving.

"What the hell?" he said aloud as he waited and watched to see if Milt went inside. This was more than unusual for the Judge.

Nothing happened. What was wrong with him?

He dropped the newspaper on the desk for now, much more concerned with the Judge than with what he'd learned from the article. He came upon the Judge quietly but with deliberation.

"Judge?" he sort of tossed out, not wanted to startle him.

There was no response.

"Judge, is everything all right?" Mark reached out his hand to touch the Judge's shoulder.

That got a reaction. Hardcastle nearly turned around and slugged him with a balled up fist. Luckily Mark backed away from the impending blow.

"It's just me Judge, relax," McCormick held his arms up in his own defense. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry 'bout that, I didn't know it was you," the Judge said realizing that it was McCormick behind him. He turned back to the charred house.

"Is everything okay?" Mark asked again.

Milt didn't answer, he stood and stared for a few more seconds and then plodded slowly toward and finally into the house. Mark scowled his face and then proceeded to follow him inside.

Once inside he saw the Judge was merely walking rather aimlessly through the scattered and smoke-filled contents. Then he began to push and shove things out of his way and finally he started grabbing at some things and then tossing them angrily off to the side.

McCormick stood in the doorway amazed by what he saw. He'd never seen the Judge show such a display of rage before. He knew immediately that using his usual smart aleck remarks would not be appropriate, but he had to do something to try to stop the Judge from the odd rampage he was on.

Just as he was thinking of what to do to try to help the situation, the Judge all but collapsed on to the floor in a heap. McCormick ran over to his side and put his hand on his back. "Judge, what is it? What's wrong?"

Hardcastle leaned forward, and away from Mark's touch and seemed to be struggling for breath. "This is what's wrong McCormick," he wildly pointed around the open room. "Someone tried to burn down my house, isn't that enough?" He managed to shout at Mark, while gasping for air.

This was a new wrinkle for Mark, he was usually the one who tended to get worked up and needed Hardcastle to settle him down. Not only wasn't he prepared for how to deal with the Judge, but would the Judge even allow him to help was the first thing. It was time for some quick thinking though.

"You know what?" McCormick began, "Why don't we go back over to the main house?" He tossed out the first thing that came to his mind, which involved getting them both out of the location that was causing them both so much grief.

Surprisingly, the Judge easily agreed, "Yeah, let's get out of this mess."

Mark reached down and gave him a hand to his feet, which this time he accepted. He still held a partially broken vase in his hand and as he stood, he tossed what was left of it and smashed it on the wall and Mark let his hands drop from helping him, stunned by the violent action. Hardcastle quietly said, "That was a wedding present from my brother and his girlfriend at the time. I never gave it much thought till now."

McCormick didn't know what to say, but then the Judge began to walk out of the gatehouse and Mark followed behind him again. Maybe Hardcastle was ready to talk.

OOOOO

"Do you want me to make us some breakfast? I think we could both use some hot food, how 'bout some Eggs Milton?" Mark said, walking right at the Judge's heels, down the familiar path from the gatehouse to the main house.

"Nah, I lost my appetite."

"Judge, I know how you feel…" Mark began. That was the absolute wrong thing to say, McCormick realized that the second the words came out of his mouth.

Hardcastle spun around and began the finger jabbing in McCormick's chest. "No, YOU don't," he nearly shouted, "You have no idea how I feel. This is _my_ house McCormick, not yours, you're here on the Hardcastle plan remember?" He waved his other arm around to motion toward the whole estate, while continuing to poke.

Before he could get jabbed again, McCormick stepped out of range and even put his hand up to block the aggressive move. "Yes, I'm painfully aware that it's not my house, but I was in there too. You know, maybe you ought to give your doctor friend a call, instead of taking whatever is your problem out on me, I didn't do this to us, you know that," he paused and said, "We both almost died Hardcastle, it was a shock to both of us and we both need to learn how to deal with it." He pushed the Judge's hand away and stepped around him and went into the house.

The Judge stood on the pathway and watched as the kid walked away. He closed his eyes purposefully and wondered what had just happened, even though he recalled every minute detail. It was all so out of character for him, he was Milt Hardcastle for crying out loud, in control of everything, everything he could control that is. And this, this was out of his control.

By the time he went into the house, the kid had gone upstairs to his temporary bedroom and essentially barricaded himself in. When he did come down a few hours later, shaved, showered and dressed, he told Hardcastle he was going out and he'd be back later in the evening. He left no opportunity for discussion.

Milt picked up the phone and decided to make a phone call.

OOOOO

Carole Murdock welcomed Mark in to her office again, by coming directly to her inner office door and standing there to greet him. She could tell by his demeanor and body language that something was awry, but then again, she already knew that based on the phone call she had received slightly before lunch time.

"Good afternoon Mark, is everything all right today?"

"Not exactly," he said, brushing past her into the office. "We don't need to do the relaxation thing either, I figured it all out. I guess I thought I should just come by and tell you."

She smiled warmly even though he didn't bother to notice, as he zipped right past her and all but collapsed into one of the rather comfortable chairs in her office. "Okay, well, come on in, let's see what we can do for you," she closed the door and took her normal chair, across from him.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Hardcastle just totally set me off this morning and I don't know how to help him, something about this whole thing is really eating away at him," Mark began. "I really think you should be talking to him and not to me, since I finally have this figured out."

"Why don't you tell me what happened and we can talk about it and go from there," she said calmly. She expected him to tell her all about Milt, but she was surprised when he went in a totally different direction.

"Like I've been telling you, I think I actually have this figured out finally, for myself, that is, I don't know what Hardcastle's problem is, that's why I think you should be seeing him and not me. The thing yesterday must have helped to trigger it for me," he leaned forward anxiously, smiled nervously and continued to explain, without taking a breath or allowing her to speak. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "Along with this, this was in the morning newspaper," he thrust it over toward her and gave her all of about two seconds to read it. He was just about to start talking again, when she finally interrupted him.

"Hold on, just hold on Mark, let me finish reading this," Carole said, bringing her reading glasses up to her face. "Another fire? Is there a connection?"

"I think so," he replied. "No, I know so," he added, firmly setting his jaw.

She continued to read the entire article. "According to this Mark, the fire department isn't even sure this one is arson yet. What would make you think there's a connection?"

"The guy who died," he said, "Someone named Charles Talbot, I know Chuckie Talbot, well, I knew him briefly."

"Slow down, let's start at the beginning."

He let out an exhaustive breath and sat back a little, like he expected her to know all about his past, he quickly realized he'd have to give her some background. "I was about twelve years old and this was back in Jersey."

"How do you know this is even the same man Mark? That was quite a few years ago."

Mark was completely focused in on what he knew to be fact. "He's not after Hardcastle, he was after me, don't you get it? I have to find this lunatic now and find out why he's after me exactly, but," he shook his head, still not able to connect the dots for her. She had a perplexed look on her face because he wasn't completely explaining himself. "I'm telling you this is what it is. I don't even know how Chuckie got out here from Jersey, probably some round about way, like I did. I only knew him for a few days, but I remember him." McCormick was rambling. "And this guy found both of us. I just can't remember his name, but I know how I can find it out."

Carole set the article off to the side, "Mark, slow down, you're not making any sense here. What happened back in New Jersey? Why would someone want to burn you to death?"

He swallowed hard and began again. "I got in some trouble, shoplifting, stealing, defacing property, you know, kid stuff, which is what you do when you're a kid. It was after my Mom died and I was shuffled from foster home to group home and the like and I got in with what most people would say was a bad group of kids and I got caught."

"And Chuckie was one of these kids?" Carole asked.

Mark shook his head no. "I didn't meet Chuckie until I got sent to the detention facility. I was only there for the weekend, the Judge sent me there to scare me and it worked," he was quick to defend himself. "I said I only knew him for a few days. These other kids were crazy, like Chuckie, he was accused of abusing his little sister. I don't even know about the other two in there. I wasn't in there long enough to know. I can't even remember their names. But I bet one liked to start fires."

She reached over to him and grabbed his hand to stop him from talking to collect his thoughts. "Mark, what happened in the detention facility?" Carole knew she was on to something now and she was urging him on to continue.

Mark started to nod affirmatively, realizing she was finally understanding his ranting. "The second night I was there, Chuckie got thrown in the cell with me, and then a couple of hours after that, the officers brought another kid in too. They joked about it and said it was a busy weekend and not enough room for all us delinquents." He suddenly stopped talking and crossed his leg over and began to knead at his right foot.

Carole noticed it immediately. "Keep going Mark, I think you're almost there. What happened in the cell?"

"It was the middle of the night and they brought in a 4th kid, I can't even remember his name. But he's the one, I know he is. He and Chuckie started a fight because there were only two bunks in there, so that meant two of us were going to have to sleep on the floor, Chuckie was on the bottom bunk and I was already on the top one. This new guy dragged Chuckie off the bed. They pushed and shoved each other around long enough to get the guard to come down and tell us to shut up. Chuckie won that battle and the new kid was sleeping on the floor next to the other one. I don't know how long we were asleep for, but that last guy on the floor started up a fire. He had snuck in a lighter and he set Chuckie's blanket on fire. I woke up and the cell was full of smoke and we all started screaming and coughing, and hollering for someone to let us out, except for the guy who had torched it to begin with. He was standing in the corner of the cell, flicking the lighter on and off."

Carole watched him closely and listened to every word, "Mark, what about your foot?"

"My foot?"

"Every time you talk about a fire, you cross your leg and start grabbing at your right foot," she explained to him.

"Yeah," he paused, reliving the first fire in his head. "The fire in the cell, it caught from Chuckie's blanket to mine, which was hanging down over the edge of the bunk and it started on fire and on up to my bunk and it started to burn my foot. I think that's how I woke up. I started screaming and kicking the blanket away, trying to put it out and get away from it, with my right foot, over and over and the fire was burning through the sock and I couldn't put it out. I was scared out of my mind. And that kid just stood in the corner of the cell laughing and flicking that lighter. I've been re-reading that article all day so far. I know that the guy who died is the same Chuckie Talbot. But I can't remember the name of the kid with the lighter. I will bet money that he started both fires here, I just can't prove it and I need Hardcastle's help to do some digging into juvenile records, but after this morning, something is wrong with him Doc and I can't expect him to help, not when he's got something else going on. I can't do that to him."

McCormick was worked up more now than when he had come into the room.

"First of all, you need to just relax for a minute Mark. I can't let you leave unless you calm yourself down," Carole began.

He took another deep breath and set his right foot back on the floor. Slowly he began to relax. "I didn't mean to ruin your whole session," he added.

"You didn't ruin anything Mark, you got to the bottom of what was bothering you and that was our goal. We were started on this path yesterday with the hypnosis. I had an inkling there was something in your past that you were repressing."

"Do you think the Judge has got something in his past too?" Mark asked. "Maybe that's what's bothering him? He's never said anything, but that could be it, what do you think?"

"I don't know Mark, right now I want to make sure you feel okay and you understand everything. That's quite a revelation you just made." Dr. Murdock tried to keep him focused on himself for the moment.

"I think so, I do feel better, but I really want to help Hardcastle, not just so he can help me find this guy, but because I know something about the fire is bothering him too."

"Mark, let's focus on you. I want you to take a moment and think about everything you've just told me, about when you were a boy. Relax for a few minutes and let yourself understand everything you've told me."

It wasn't barely thirty seconds later when Mark stood up. "I have, um, I will. Right now I gotta go." And out the door he went.

OOOOO

Carole Murdock was torn. She wished McCormick hadn't raced off, but she also had promised to meet Hardcastle for dinner. And from his tone on the phone this morning, and after talking with Mark she knew more than ever that she had to keep the date.

"This was a lovely dinner Milt," Carole said, "But I have a strange feeling something is on your mind, am I right?"

"Why would you think that?" Hardcastle started. "I merely thought after I used the other's day lunch for business rather than pleasure that I would try it again and this time make it dinner." He didn't have her fooled for a minute.

The two of them walked outside the restaurant. Carole suggested they take a walk along the beach, since they had eaten at a seaside restaurant. A boardwalk was nearby, so they began to stroll. "You're really not fooling me, why don't you get out whatever it is that's bothering you. I really don't mind," Carole began. "I knew when you called me up today that something was on your mind."

Hardcastle acted as though he didn't like her suggestion. "I don't have anything on my mind, I just thought we should have a nice dinner."

"Milt," she reached down for his hand, which he reluctantly accepted, "We've known each other for a long time, when have you ever called me up and asked me out for dinner?"

"Well, maybe I wanted to and I'm just sort of shy," he said, avoiding looking at her, he turned and watched another couple pass by them. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

"You shy? Now I know something is bothering you," she laughed. "We had a 22 minute conversation on birds Milt. That's something I enjoy, but I happen to know you loathe it," Carole continued.

"I don't hate birds. That's not true, why would you think that?" Hardcastle said.

"Because you told me at one of your Halloween parties a few years back. I think you had a little too much to drink that particular night and you were being brutally honest to everyone in sight," she was quick to defend her point. "That was the same night you told Cliff that he needed to get a better toupee and you proceeded to try to pull off his real hair."

He knew she was right, he remembered the exact moment, while stifling a laugh. "Yeah, you were wearing a parrot costume that night. You really looked ridiculous."

"As I recall, you were wearing a Richard Nixon mask, running around telling everyone, 'I am not a crook,' talk about ridiculous," Carole fired back.

He let out a bit of a belly laugh. "I really like Halloween," he admitted, like it was some sort of defense.

"Believe me, we all know that you do. Now, why don't you just tell me what it is that's bothering you. It has to do with the fire right?"

"Has McCormick been seeing you?" he suddenly asked, scowling up his face.

"Milt, you know I'm not allowed to discuss those kinds of things with you. How about we focus on you."

That was enough of an answer for him. "Ha, I knew he was. You must be the _waitress_!" he emphasized waitress.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a smile, "I don't have any idea what you're talking about, nor do I think I even want to know."

"What did he tell you?" Milt now stopped her from walking and faced her directly. "He told you about this morning didn't he? You were his _date_ this afternoon?"

"Milt, honestly, maybe you should just drive me home," Carole let go of his hand.

"You know what, I have a better idea. I'll drive you over to my place and tell you both what's on my mind, how would that be? There's no sense in having to rehash over everything twice," Milt suggested.

Carole Murdock was more than surprised by his candor and his sudden penchant for group therapy. "You would do that? Or are you merely mocking me Milt? Because if you are, let's put an end to this right now. There are plenty of doctors I could recommend that you see, if you're really interested in getting to the root of your problem or you can simply take me home and keep your mockery to yourself." She even started to walk back to the parking lot.

Milt quickly caught up to her. "Carole, wait!" He called out to her. "I'm not joking, I'm serious. I want to tell both of you, I know what's bothering me and maybe if I just say it out loud, that'll be the end of it."

OOOO

Mark McCormick had been busy over the late afternoon and early evening. He'd gone directly from his appointment with Dr. Murdock, to see the Fire Captain who headed up the arson investigation who in turn put in a call to the a contact at the LAPD, who quickly made some contacts with the New Jersey Department of Corrections. He thought about going back to the estate and hooking up with Hardcastle, but as he drove along, he decided he'd go solo and let Hardcastle have a relaxing day without him underfoot to annoy him. After spending a few hours in the various offices he decided rather than waiting for the process to mesh itself out, he'd go back to Gull's Way to await the information.

He picked up a pizza on the way home and dropped into one of the leather chairs in the den to eat, while he flicked on the TV and mindlessly watched an old episode of 'Charlie's Angels.' Nothing like a little Farrah Fawcett to try to take your mind off of something that happened nearly twenty years ago.

The phone rang as he was about to pick up his third triangular slice of pepperoni and mushroom. He dropped it back into the box and got up to answer the phone on Hardcastle's desk.

"Hello?" Mark said into the receiver. "Yeah, Captain Ryan, yep, let me get a pen and write it down. You got something already? Terrific, who is it? Martin Casey? It's not really ringing a bell. Yeah, I understand. Do you know the name of the other kid, besides me and Chuckie Talbot? Yeah, that's it Jerry Hanwaller. It's weird I still don't remember that Martin Casey was the troublemaker, but I guess we never really did take the time to get to know each other. It was just the one night. Maybe I just wanted to forget. No, I understand. Yeah, I'll wait for your call tomorrow. Thanks a lot Captain."

He didn't bother to put the receiver back into the holder, he merely pressed the button down and released it and dialed up his own contact at LAPD, Frank Harper. "Frank, it's Mark McCormick, can you run a name for me and Hardcastle? No, he just went to the bathroom, he said I should give you a call. Yeah, it was pizza again," he let out a laugh. "We need an address. Yeah? The guy's name is Martin Casey? Yeah, I can hold, thanks Frank." He pulled out a tablet of paper and Frank came back on line, "Yeah, I'm still here Frank, go ahead. 4457 Commerce Street. Got it," he quickly wrote down the address and ripped of the top sheet. "Thanks a bunch Frank, yeah, I'll tell Hardcastle to lay off the mushrooms. We'll call you later with the details, of course I promise, yeah yeah, thanks Frank."

He shoved the paper with the address into his pocket and out the door he went.

OOOOO

"McCormick? Hey, where are ya?" Milt shouted as he walked into the den hoping to see the kid sitting casually watching TV.

"Maybe he had a date with the waitress after all," Carole teased him for a change. "It looks like he ate and ran though," she added, seeing the partially eaten pizza.

That only got her an eye roll from Hardcastle. "Let me check the kitchen," he said, brushing past her. McCormick wasn't in there either, nor was he upstairs. And the Coyote wasn't in the garage either like he was hoping. Milt walked back into the den, where Carole waited. "Maybe he did have a date." He walked over to his desk and saw the tablet of paper near the phone and he picked up the errant pencil and began to shade in the paper and up came a name and address. He read the name Martin Casey aloud along with the address on Commerce Street. The name meant nothing to Carole, at least she gave no indication to name recognition.

The phone rang while Hardcastle stood by his desk. "Yeah, Hardcastle. Oh, hi Cap. No, McCormick's not here. Is there something I can do?" There was a long gap of silence as the Judge listened to what the Captain was telling him, obviously revealing to the Judge that Martin Casey, someone who crossed path's with McCormick, was probably the arsonist. "I haven't seen him to talk to him. No, he hasn't said anything to me about it yet. You know what Cap, why don't you meet me over there. Yep, I have the address. I'll head out right now." He paused for a moment and added, "And do me one other favor Cap, release Terrance Shaw," Milt listened to what the Cap was saying. "I know, I thought he was the best suspect too, but he's telling the truth, thanks Cap. I think McCormick's got the lead on this one." Hardcastle hung up the phone and glanced down at the address and then over to Carole.

"What is it?" She asked him.

"Carole, I think you better tell me what you and McCormick discussed."

"Milt, I can't," she tried to explain, "You know that."

"He went after someone named Martin Casey, he's an arsonist. I gotta go after him. You can either come with me and tell me what's going on or wait her or I can call you a cab to take you home."

It only took her a moment to come up with her answer. "I'll go with you. You don't think he's in any trouble do you?" She asked.

"McCormick's got a knack for trouble Carole."

They both headed out and as they got to the truck Carole began to speak to him as she saw the concerned look on his face. "Mark was in another fire when he was twelve Milt and I'm telling you this because I don't want to see him or you in any kind of trouble."

"I already know that, in some detention facility back in New Jersey, the Captain told me. I'm still trying to fill in all the blanks, but you obviously know."

"Mark didn't remember his name."

"Well, he found out!" Milt said with a tone of annoyance, he knows all the tricks to find out what he needs to know Carole." Hardcastle proceeded to tell her what he knew so far. "This Casey guy started one back when they were kids and there's a good chance he started the one here at Gulls Way and the one from the other day on the west side. Captain Ryan says that anyone that this guy has ever run in to during his life generally ends up dying in a fire. He found out when he was just a baby that his own father burned down their house. Casey's mother and two sisters died and Casey jumped out of a second story window. He's never been right in the head. The fire department is trying to finish putting all the pieces together too. I don't know how McCormick figured all this out, but I'm betting you do."

"He recognized the name of the man who died in the fire the other day. There were four of them in the detention cell that night. I honestly thought that Mark was okay with all of this, or I wouldn't have let him leave my office this afternoon Milt. I had no idea he'd go out on his own, but I do know he was worried about you Milt, he probably thought he could do this on his own, he didn't want to bother you with it."

"Carole, we've been going after these kinds of people for over a year now. He's hard-wired for this sort of thing now. It's his natural response, the personal nature of it just makes it even easier for him to do. I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid."

"You know maybe you should hang up the cape and hang out a shingle like me," she said. "You're pretty good at analyzing things."

"Ha, that'd be the day. I can't even control my own head most of the time," he paused and let out an exhale, "and you think I can control him?" He drew in a long, deep breath and admitted, "This wasn't the first fire I've been in either."

Carole nodded in agreement, "I figured as much. I don't understand either one of you. I bet you would talk about anything, except something that's bothering you."

"Yeah, that's us, you nailed it," he answered her rather sarcastically. "Look, if you're wondering if I care about him, of course I do, we're friends, good friends, and this is how we are, there's no deep secret to that."

She watched him closely as he spoke. She realized that for some people, someone like Milt Hardcastle, there would never be a need for someone like her and the work she did. Maybe that was a good thing. He probably knew all along exactly what about the fire was bothering him and when it bothered and gnawed at him enough, he'd tell someone. He had now reached that precipice. "So tell me about the other fire," she asked.

"Happened a long time ago. I was a kid myself, back in Arkansas. About 16 I think. The stupid thing that made me realize that it was that that was bothering me was that I said the same damn thing to McCormick that the landowner said to me" and he began to repeat the words, "this is _my_ house Hardcastle, not yours, you're here on the Sawyer plan." He shook his head. "I didn't ever want to think the hate that came with those words ever again, let alone say it aloud to McCormick. I can't believe I said that to him. This is _my_ house McCormick, not yours, you're here on the Hardcastle plan. I've been kicking myself all day long."

"You were upset Milt, that's all. We all say things we don't mean when we're upset."

He continued on with his memory of the fire back in Arkansas. "My Dad and brother were off working in the fields and my father sent me back home 'cause I was sicker than a dog. I had the chills and a fever and I kept throwing up all morning long. My Dad finally realized he wasn't getting any work out of me and he sent me back home to sleep. When I got back to our little house, I saw smoke pouring out of all the cracks. And my mother was no where in sight. Just like McCormick, I knew she was in there, so I kicked open the door and the flames shot out at me, but I raced in there and found her sprawled out on the kitchen floor. I thought she was dead, like I thought he was dead." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke of the memory. "I yelled and screamed her name over and over and finally picked her up in my arms and carried her out of there. The landowner, Sawyer, must have noticed the smoke and the fire and right after I pulled her to safety, the old county fire truck pulled up and put the fire out. It turned out she had gotten the same flu I had, and had passed out while she was trying to get the oven burning to warm up the house."

"Was your Mother okay?" Carole asked.

"Yeah, she spent a couple of days in the hospital and that just added to my Dad's troubles. We couldn't afford it, but she needed the extra care. Me and my brother Gerald did our best to clean up the house, but even all the scrubbing and disinfecting we did was no use, we never got the smell out completely. At least I could always smell it in there. And then while we're in there cleaning it all out, Sawyer comes over and says that to me. All I could think of was that my mother and I could have died. And that's where McCormick really got to me. He fired back at me, like he always does and reminded me that we both almost died out there. And I wish I could have said that to Sawyer, like he said it to me. It was a different time back then, you didn't talk back to people then, even if they were dead wrong. The kid's got a lot of guts to tell me off. But I know he said it 'cause he cares, and maybe that's why I never said anything to Sawyer. I knew he didn't." This time Milt breathed in a satisfied gulp of air. "What's important is that we're both alive. A house you can rebuild. I shouldn't have said that to him, he didn't deserve it."

"Milt, I'm sure he'll understand once you tell him and I know he'll want to tell you his experience too," Carole said.

"Right now we need to find him," Milt answered.

OOOOO

McCormick entered the building at 4457 Commerce Street and checked the tiny directory just inside the door. It was a small brick building, only three floors in height and the only name not crossed off or removed from the directory was Martin Casey in apartment 204.

It was no wonder that apparently no one else lived in the building. McCormick looked out the window as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. The buildings on either side had been demolished and only small piles of debris remained. The next nearest building was over a block away, an abandoned field was across the street. There were no other businesses or signs of life in sight.

He got to the apartment door and knocked on the door.

Inside Martin Casey sat on the floor leaning back against the sofa, watching the Dodger game. No one ever knocked on his door. He sat forward and thought maybe he was just hearing things, but then there was another knock, followed by a voice.

"Martin Casey? Are you in there?" Mark called out.

Martin got to his feet and went to the door. "I'm not interested in buying anything, go away, no soliciting."

"I'm not selling anything Martin, open up, I want to talk to you," Mark said.

"Talk to me? What about?" Martin reached into the pocket of his jeans and grasped the lighter. "Who are you?" He shouted through the door.

"My name is Mark McCormick, maybe you remember me? We met a long time ago."

"No, I don't know any Mark McCormick. I don't know you, just go away," Martin said.

"Come on Martin, open up, listen, if you don't remember me in a couple of minutes, I promise I'll go," Mark offered.

"No, tell me what you want," Martin said, pulling out the lighter and holding it tightly in his fist.

"Martin, you and I go way back, New Jersey remember?"

"No, I don't remember you, I told you I don't know anyone named Mark, leave me alone." Martin took the lighter in his fingers and rolled it back and forth in his palm.

"Sure you do Martin. We were locked up in Juvie together. Remember it was me and you and Chuckie and Jerry," Mark continued to talk.

Inside Martin was staring at the lighter in his hand and he began to flick it on and off. "I told you, I don't remember, now just go away."

"Martin, I can't do that, I need to talk to you, and I think you know why."

"GO AWAY," Martin shouted. This time he flicked the lighter and held it to the woodwork around the door frame. It started to smolder.

"Martin, come on, we're buddies from back in Jersey, I just want to talk to you," Mark tried again.

Martin didn't answer this time. The flame had taken hold in the woodwork and it began to smoke and spark as it got hotter and hotter. He kept holding the lighter in his hand and he unlocked the door. Mark heard the snap of the release lock.

"Can I come in Martin?" he asked.

"Just wait," Martin called back. He walked over to the sofa and sat down and held the flame to the cushion. It caught instantly. "Perfection," he quietly whispered to himself, "who needs the blue box? This is pure!" It was another few seconds before he spoke to Mark, "You can come in now," he said, as the fire quickly spread all over the old sofa and it began to engulf him. The door frame was now beginning to flame up even more.

Mark touched the door handle and pulled his hand away from the heat. "Damn it, Martin, what the hell did you do?" He stepped back and kicked the door in, which instantly fed the fire and the flames came licking out to him. He could see Martin on the couch, surrounded by the fire. He had a devilish grin on his face, but no sound came from his lips, as if the flames weren't even hurting him. It stopped McCormick dead in his tracks for a split second. _Good God_, he thought as he saw the horrific sight. He glanced around the room for a blanket or sheet or something he could use to try to douse the flames. But there was nothing in the sparse apartment that would work. He decided to shed the light weight jacket he wore and went over to the sofa and tried to beat down the fire. By now, Martin had crumpled into a mass of stench-burned flesh, still on fire and he had tumbled down onto the floor and he was completely engulfed in the flames, which quickly spread across the apartment.

The fire began leaping and building even more rapidly than Mark could imagine. He knew he didn't have much time as the smoke and flames began to fill the room. His goal was to try to put out the flames surrounding Martin and try to pull him out to safety.

Meanwhile, outside 4457 Commerce Street, Milt and Carole pulled up in the pick-up truck. They both got out of the truck and Milt commented, "I knew he'd be here," pointing at the Coyote which was parked right in front of them. "That's his car. He knows better than to do this stuff alone too. Who knows what sort of lunatic this guy is. We know he likes to start fires."

"I think Mark wants to find out for himself why this man is out to kill him," Carole said.

They were about to head into the building, when one of the windows on the second floor blew out, sending shards of shattered glass all over them. Milt looked up to see fire come shooting out.

"Carole, go find a phone and call the fire department now," he handed her the keys to the truck and he went racing inside.

"Milt, you can't go running in there," she tried to plead, but he was already on his way in and up the stairs to the second floor. She got into the truck and drove off to find a phone.

Milt got up to the second floor and saw the flames pouring out of one of the apartments. "McCormick!" he screamed as he got to the doorway and looked inside to see Mark battling the flames with his flimsy jacket. "Mark, get the hell out of there, now!" Hardcastle called out to him. "This whole place is going to go up!"

McCormick spun around and saw Milt in the doorway. "Judge?" He continued to swat at the fire. "We need to get him out of here." Mark motioned to the burning lump of flesh on the fiery floor. He wasn't going anywhere without trying to get Martin Casey out.

The Judge came in after him. The fire was doubling, maybe even tripling in size as every second passed. The roar of the flames was deafening. Hardcastle grabbed Mark by the arms and began to pull him toward the door. "We're getting out of here right now, he's gone Mark, he's burned to death, you gotta let him go," Milt hollered above the fire. "We need to go."

"I gotta get him, I gotta know why," Mark screamed, trying to fight out of Milt's grasp.

"McCormick, NO, would you listen to me." Milt made him look him directly in the eyes as he spoke, "He was sick Mark, that's all, now come on," he furiously pulled McCormick out of the apartment.

Several firefighters appeared in the doorway and grabbed onto each one of them and safely brought them out of the building and onto the nearby street. Carole Murdock was waiting just up the block and came running toward both of them as she saw them get safely out.

"They gotta get him out of there Judge," Mark coughed as he bent over taking in as much fresh air as he could.

"That's their job, they'll get him," Milt set his hands on his thighs and hunched over slightly to do the same thing.

"It all happened so fast," Mark commented. "I don't know why he started it. That's all I wanted to ask him. He started really hacking up some smoke and he stopped talking. "It just flared up so suddenly."

"That's how it is with fires, there nothing to be messed with, now just shut up for a few minutes and take in some air," Hardcastle said.

"Are you both all right?" Carole came up and asked them, putting her hand on the Judge's back.

"We will be," Milt said. "Thanks for calling the fire department."

"There's still another guy in there," Mark said, starting his coughing all over again.

"And the firemen will get him out, that's their job McCormick. Now sit down there and try to keep quiet."

About five minutes later, two firemen brought out Martin Casey on a stretcher and Mark instantly got up and went over to them. "How is he?" Mark asked.

"I'm sorry sir, he's dead, looks like suicide to me, we found the remains of a lighter and one of the electrical boxes on the sofa and that's where the fire started," one of the firemen said to him as they carried the stretcher away from the building. Mark took the back of his sleeve and rubbed the smoke out of his eyes and tried to look at the body. They had it covered up, and he could see the burnt remains of his jacket around Martin's feet.

Milt and Carole came up behind him. Hardcastle said, "Let's go home McCormick, let's go home."

OOOOO

"I just wish I knew why," Mark began to say, bringing out plates and silverware out onto the patio. "I should try to find Jerry Hanwaller and let him know."

"The police will take care of that McCormick," Hardcastle said. "You just need to forget about it. It's time to move on with your life. You know as much as you're ever going to know about Martin Casey. He was sick and he never got the help he needed. That Hanwaller guy doesn't need to know, just forget about it will ya?"

"Like you're forgetting about Terrance Shaw?" Mark asked, "I heard you on the phone before, apologizing up and down and anonymously sponsoring his new research?"

Hardcastle had nothing to say in defense and he just sort of turned away from both their stares.

Carole decided it was a good time for her to jump into the conversation, "He obviously was a very troubled man Mark, even if he had survived, he may not have ever been able to give you the answer you want, he probably didn't understand his sickness himself," Carole Murdock said, as Mark handed her a glass of wine. She was enjoying having the two men seemingly wait on her hand and foot. Hardcastle went back to grilling.

Hardcastle added, "According to his record, he had started at least two dozen fires, and that's only the ones that the law knew about. Troubled doesn't even begin to describe him. It sounded like he needed help for a long time."

"I don't know whether to blame the system or what? Someone had to know when that kid was twelve, that he needed help," Mark continued. "It's just not right."

"No, it's not Mark, and no matter what McCormick, or Hardcastle think" Carole looked from one to the other, "they cannot save the world, even though they like to think they can."

"And neither can Carole Murdock," the Judge added.

"Touché," Carole agreed.

"Maybe not, but we can all try, can't we?" Mark asked.

"You two are getting way too serious for me," she began, "I thought you invited me over to have a good time," Carole stated.

"Indeed we did," Milt said. "And the steaks are almost ready."

"You've lost your touch Judge, all the other food is out on the table getting cold," Mark said.

Carole got up from the chaise lounge she sat in and began to walk toward the table. Mark held out a deck chair for her. "Thank you Mark," she said, looking over toward the gatehouse. "How's the remodeling coming?"

"Great," Mark started, "Although the Judge won't let me put a Jacuzzi in the loft like I want."

"Whatta ya need a Jacuzzi for? You have a whirlpool down here, same thing! When you want to use it, just come down here and use it," Hardcastle said.

"It's not the same thing Judge, not when the blonde waitress comes over," Mark said, giving Carole a wink.

"There is no blonde waitress McCormick, you made that up," Hardcastle said.

Carole cleared her throat, "Excuse me, what am I a figment of someone's imagination?"

"Well, no, Carole, that's not what I meant," Milt tried to sidestep.

McCormick sat back with a wide grin.

"What did you mean Milt?" Carole asked. Now it was Milt's turn to clear his throat. She didn't give him a chance to reply. "I am a blonde aren't I?"

Milt nodded, "But you're not a waitress and you're not dating McCormick."

Mark sidled up his chair along side hers, "Whatta ya talking about Judge?" He put a friendly little kiss on her cheek as she leaned in toward him.

"Oh get outta here, I'm not buying it, from either one of you. He was seeing you as a patient, that's it," the Judge said.

"But I'm not seeing her professionally anymore Judge, now it's just personal," Mark said. Carole gave him a warm smile as they continued to tease the Judge.

Milt looked directly at her. "You two are dating? Is that the story you're going with?"

Carole laughed lightly, she couldn't continue on with either of them much longer, "You know, I'm tired of the mind games with both of you, can we please just eat dinner and oh, I don't know, maybe talk about birds."


End file.
